my dearest friend--
we are bereft of
any pulling or tugging at the corners of language,
any way I could tie it up for you, kindly and reassuringly,
the way, the way the way I'd like to,
the way you deserve,
the way the way we go around,
strutting and fretting,
and so instead I send you every bargaining prayer I guiltily uttered,
every gusting wave of rage I've ever railed against heaven,
every upward thrust from the earth that stood me stronger under it all,
every maddened and raging moment,
I send you this and more,
a silent warm wind on your nighttime drive south,
ten million stars to guide you home.
posted at 10:35 PM
clichès are clichès for a reason
darlin please don’t…
cry
the apple of my…
eye
everythings comin up roses, roses roses
In our grim cocoon
In our worn out
language
posted at 12:27 AM
the kind of way you while away the hours the hours collapsing days,
i swear to god your rhythm is fucked up girl.
posted at 4:47 PM