Jan 2019
tfel ot thgiR
ꓵbƨᴉdԍ doʍn
Misread signals and
a torn up note sitting at the bottom of a
x̴̙͖̙̲͕̋̐͠mͤ̄ͫͤ̆҉̻̬̫̞̠́͞h̯͉̱̣̠̫̪͓͌̆̍ͤk̡̘͓̗͐͑ͦ́͡r̟̘̻̰̪̮̠̤̋ḵ͉̦̣͖̜̭̓̐̌̆̇͠e̸̫̬͎̊͂̀ͬ̐͒ͨͥj̴͇̜ͪ͑ͩ̔́ͨ̂̕3̦̱̣̼̣͆̊͒͒̍̓͐͒͠4̲͍̘̻̺̫̱̹̳͂͗͐́͂͡8̩̦̘͙̼̦̫͂̑ͨ͋̑̃̽́̚ͅͅ6͆̄̆̿͞҉͚̹̙̟̗̠͉4̸̺͉̠͇̝̱̎̅͟9̯̮̤͕̙͓͓̼̱ͯ̌̕͞y̬̤͓̙͔̲͑͊̅͂ͩ̔́ȩ̜̘̺̱̭̖̺̝ͧ̄̏ͨ̑́͞ṙ̶͍̮̜ͬ͂͛j̥̠͙̪̙̥͎ͣͫ͊̀̍̏̕̕͝g̟͓̼͇̟͚͚̐͂͡
It couldn’t have been me
An angsty teen,
a modern artist,
some idiot with a spray can I’ll never know
I only read
the writing on the
w̷̢͖͕̦̘̳̙ͮ̋̍ͤ͒ͮͫ͘X̷̱̱͕͇̤̝̲͉̂̊̎ͬ̇ͣ̽͌̌̓͐͂̔̓͘͟͢&̑ͫ͒͑͢҉̡̢̹̹͓̙̪͖̮͉͖͇̗̭̱n͌͌ͨ̌͐̄ͪ̏̇͊҉̛̠̦̝̦̻̝̭͚̼͔̭̫̺͔͈̳̬̩̰b̨̗̱͙̟͕̮̟̜̲ͯ̔͋͑̀ͫͦͭ͋̅͌͋ͤ̀͋ṡ̷̹̘̦͍̥͔̯͚͖͕̬̫̇ͬ̐̔ͯ̒͋̑ͧ̇ͥͯ̀͝͝ͅp̶̸̷͇͈̘̗̃ͧ͋͑̎̑ͫ͐ͤͯ̔̂́͝ȧ̶̢̲͙̙̪͈͎̫̩̥͈͔̺͉̥͖̲̊ͮ͗̊͊ͫͬ͂ͭ͆͂̂̊́ͪd̸͔̞̮̲̥̭̹̯̝̲͚̮̠̟̰̝̋͛͒ͫ̎ͯ̍ͥ̂̓͂͐̌̊͊̔̂̒̀͜͟͡k̴̢̨̢̦̗̦̯͖̙̮͉̟̮̪͎͚͓̼͗̽́̀͋̚͝f̸͑ͥ͊̇̓̿͛̒ͣͦͪ̿ͫ̉ͩͭ̊̚͞͏̖͍̘͈̙̗̳͕͕̳̥̹̟̟͓3̵̛̭̭̤͖̯̣̼͔͖̬͕̖͚͖̰̪̺̟͑̍͋ͥͧͯͮ̑̕4̷̧̭̹͚̬̙̻̜̗͎̮̤̬̟͚̻̙̆̑ͬͯ̂͛ͤͯ̽́ͅ4̡̯͔̙̻́ͮ̀̏ͤ͋̍ͨͯͪͥ͛̓ͭ͘͠͡l̴͙͓̱͈̠͚̻̰̮̭̝̘̗͈̊́͛͊͊̎̌̌ͮ̐ͯ͗̒́l̳̝͉͔̯̠͔͔ͭͦ͋̑̑͗̽̕͢͡͡
Late at night, I imagine
the taste of your mouth, me i̢͢f͜͢ yò̶͢u҉͏ ̸n̡e̸v̛͏͡e͢҉r̨̨ ̴t͡ò̸͞úc̴͞h͜͡e͞d̨͢ ̵̢̕h͏͢͜e͝r̛͢͡
counting the number of your teeth i̵͢f̛͝ ͞͞i͘͞ ̢͘ş͠a̶̵͜iḑ̡͘ ̶͜s͝ơm̴̕ę̀t̢̡̛h͠i̷ng͢͡
with my tongue i̷͝f̸͞ ̸y͏̶̕ou̷͘͜ ҉̨h̨͡a̴̧ḑ́
the way your breath would slow, down to a grumbling putter as sleep took you. m̧͎͉̜̙̺͍͇̪̞̘͎̖̜͙̑̐̌̔͂̒̂̔̇̇ͦ͘͡e̷̽͒̅͊̽̅̀ͬ̿͛̋̄̔̐͂̚͠͏͇͖̪̼͙̠̙
And even though it isn’t me,
the tight, heady pain where your love should be
Brings me to sunrise, where I can bury
all of what should have been,
wash away my dreams like graffiti on a wall, find peace
In the place where my sleep will take me.
ꓵbƨᴉdԍ doʍn
Misread signals and
a torn up note sitting at the bottom of a
x̴̙͖̙̲͕̋̐͠mͤ̄ͫͤ̆҉̻̬̫̞̠́͞h̯͉̱̣̠̫̪͓͌̆̍ͤk̡̘͓̗͐͑ͦ́͡r̟̘̻̰̪̮̠̤̋ḵ͉̦̣͖̜̭̓̐̌̆̇͠e̸̫̬͎̊͂̀ͬ̐͒ͨͥj̴͇̜ͪ͑ͩ̔́ͨ̂̕3̦̱̣̼̣͆̊͒͒̍̓͐͒͠4̲͍̘̻̺̫̱̹̳͂͗͐́͂͡8̩̦̘͙̼̦̫͂̑ͨ͋̑̃̽́̚ͅͅ6͆̄̆̿͞҉͚̹̙̟̗̠͉4̸̺͉̠͇̝̱̎̅͟9̯̮̤͕̙͓͓̼̱ͯ̌̕͞y̬̤͓̙͔̲͑͊̅͂ͩ̔́ȩ̜̘̺̱̭̖̺̝ͧ̄̏ͨ̑́͞ṙ̶͍̮̜ͬ͂͛j̥̠͙̪̙̥͎ͣͫ͊̀̍̏̕̕͝g̟͓̼͇̟͚͚̐͂͡
It couldn’t have been me
An angsty teen,
a modern artist,
some idiot with a spray can I’ll never know
I only read
the writing on the
w̷̢͖͕̦̘̳̙ͮ̋̍ͤ͒ͮͫ͘X̷̱̱͕͇̤̝̲͉̂̊̎ͬ̇ͣ̽͌̌̓͐͂̔̓͘͟͢&̑ͫ͒͑͢҉̡̢̹̹͓̙̪͖̮͉͖͇̗̭̱n͌͌ͨ̌͐̄ͪ̏̇͊҉̛̠̦̝̦̻̝̭͚̼͔̭̫̺͔͈̳̬̩̰b̨̗̱͙̟͕̮̟̜̲ͯ̔͋͑̀ͫͦͭ͋̅͌͋ͤ̀͋ṡ̷̹̘̦͍̥͔̯͚͖͕̬̫̇ͬ̐̔ͯ̒͋̑ͧ̇ͥͯ̀͝͝ͅp̶̸̷͇͈̘̗̃ͧ͋͑̎̑ͫ͐ͤͯ̔̂́͝ȧ̶̢̲͙̙̪͈͎̫̩̥͈͔̺͉̥͖̲̊ͮ͗̊͊ͫͬ͂ͭ͆͂̂̊́ͪd̸͔̞̮̲̥̭̹̯̝̲͚̮̠̟̰̝̋͛͒ͫ̎ͯ̍ͥ̂̓͂͐̌̊͊̔̂̒̀͜͟͡k̴̢̨̢̦̗̦̯͖̙̮͉̟̮̪͎͚͓̼͗̽́̀͋̚͝f̸͑ͥ͊̇̓̿͛̒ͣͦͪ̿ͫ̉ͩͭ̊̚͞͏̖͍̘͈̙̗̳͕͕̳̥̹̟̟͓3̵̛̭̭̤͖̯̣̼͔͖̬͕̖͚͖̰̪̺̟͑̍͋ͥͧͯͮ̑̕4̷̧̭̹͚̬̙̻̜̗͎̮̤̬̟͚̻̙̆̑ͬͯ̂͛ͤͯ̽́ͅ4̡̯͔̙̻́ͮ̀̏ͤ͋̍ͨͯͪͥ͛̓ͭ͘͠͡l̴͙͓̱͈̠͚̻̰̮̭̝̘̗͈̊́͛͊͊̎̌̌ͮ̐ͯ͗̒́l̳̝͉͔̯̠͔͔ͭͦ͋̑̑͗̽̕͢͡͡
Late at night, I imagine
the taste of your mouth, me i̢͢f͜͢ yò̶͢u҉͏ ̸n̡e̸v̛͏͡e͢҉r̨̨ ̴t͡ò̸͞úc̴͞h͜͡e͞d̨͢ ̵̢̕h͏͢͜e͝r̛͢͡
counting the number of your teeth i̵͢f̛͝ ͞͞i͘͞ ̢͘ş͠a̶̵͜iḑ̡͘ ̶͜s͝ơm̴̕ę̀t̢̡̛h͠i̷ng͢͡
with my tongue i̷͝f̸͞ ̸y͏̶̕ou̷͘͜ ҉̨h̨͡a̴̧ḑ́
the way your breath would slow, down to a grumbling putter as sleep took you. m̧͎͉̜̙̺͍͇̪̞̘͎̖̜͙̑̐̌̔͂̒̂̔̇̇ͦ͘͡e̷̽͒̅͊̽̅̀ͬ̿͛̋̄̔̐͂̚͠͏͇͖̪̼͙̠̙
And even though it isn’t me,
the tight, heady pain where your love should be
Brings me to sunrise, where I can bury
all of what should have been,
wash away my dreams like graffiti on a wall, find peace
In the place where my sleep will take me.
from the summer. a boy i liked told me about how he fooled around with somebody else.
