She read her book
Her eyes focused
Like a hawk on its prey,
Hunting down every next page

She read her book
In the shade of an umbrella,
Like a spine in a sleeve
She continued her numbered journey,
naive

She became excitable,
Nearing the end of her trip
Each page consumed in a hurry:
Four-oh-four, four-oh-five, four-oh-six

The plot thickened,
The ****** commenced
The past two hours
Flew by, so intense

She finished her book
And into the distance she looked




disappointed

I am looking at trees
they may be one of the things I will miss
most from the earth
though many of the ones I have seen
already I cannot remember
and though I seldom embrace the ones I see
and have never been able to speak
with one
I listen to them tenderly
their names have never touched them
they have stood round my sleep
and when it was forbidden to climb them
they have carried me in their branches

I'm hopeless
-ly
hopeful
that this
will
last
longer
than
my
last
forever

because
infinity
has never seemed
so enjoyable
and
I
have
never known
the unknown
to be
a
desirable
destination

I'm hopeless
-ly
hopeful
that someone
will
hold
my
hand
because
I
can't see
with all these
stars
in
my
eyes

And blind has never been better

I fell in love with the way
You told me you'd always be there
And how you complimented
My every flaw
And said I was perfect to you

I fell in love with the way
We are so alike
And how our personalities
Tangle like ivy around an old cottage

I fell in love with the way
You made me feel like nothing else matters
Despite the darkening depression
Deep inside my soul
And the anxiety that riddles me
You made me feel like I was normal
And told me I was still beautiful to you

And ill always love the little things
About you that make me fall hopelessly
In love with you
And I hope, my love, you do not realise
That actually I'm not normal
And actually I'm not perfect
But maybe
Just maybe I'm normal and perfect
To you.

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

I try to convince my shadow
That I'm worth following.

No need to wonder what's on my mind:
It's you.