runawaythoughts are   greyhounding my   restless/
wreckless brain,

we are all afraid of each other and when we say, 'how are you?' it is

hollow.

it is Difficult to not wander             away;
maybe elsewhere sincerity is still pulsing.

sometimes, the only need in the world
is to lie
on
the floor.

he stood there
skinny in the bad lighting
and his voice sounded like Modest Mouse
                       only better
                       because it sounded like him.

                        i was helpless: i swooned.

lack therof. i spend weekends with

stale popcorn,
hot baths,
myself.

they say the lotus only grows in mud.

my hair, or so i like to think
        my lips, when i want to feel(that the night is mine)
                someone dear once said, 'grace&ferocity;'
                         my motives darling, are rouge.

when you wrote a song but would not sing it because you were worried about it not being good enough for me.
i felt whole.
more
than
just
a
collectionofbonesandbobsledemotionsslappedtogether.