the year all of the pets you met as a teenager started dying

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a place for my archaic bones & bathroom-etched promises
he/him




User avatar
Gender None specified
Points 19
Reviews 2
night sneaks up like a child’s bedtime;
i rub my eyes into the sleeve of my shirt,
aching for god or my mother. extremities become detachable
& friends become saints in a way that is more than
sacrifice or holy divinity.

the desire to be wanted only arrives
during the most intense isolation, sitting in the corner of a room,
listening to apologies turned argument; "i was right all along,
you should have done the thing i told you to do,
& now you didn't, & now look where you are."

i don’t know if i am hungry, or just alone.
i want to be high.
he/him



Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.
— Enid Bagnold