waiting

playing the waiting game. what's the point of having an appointment if i still have to wait this long?

work, through wonderland

what if every bottle was a potion?

the neighborhood is quiet and picturesque. you can see the secrets under all the potted plants and christmas wreaths.

night, black holes in our pillows

i woke up with a fist around my heart. my ribcage aches. sleeping is falling

boys like me are not afraid of wolves

i want to write about wolves. i want to write about flesh ripping from bone and screaming your wonder to the moon.

night, we are built with universes inside of us

maybe the idea of heaven is different, past midnight, when the light of your computer screen is a pearly gate.

Fried snickers at the park on a chilled September evening. I can die happy.

We used to be friendly on this bed.

4:55am but truly it's not morning yet.