ccxiv. the square root of everything commercial

i’d like these walls to be made up of all the leftover styrofoams in the world and wallpaper out of cheap vegetable oil. i relish in doing my part to save the planet.

ccxiii. reaching for a mirage

starving for words, fingers reminiscing of a forgotten realm of music, ears screeching to the silence of a black void.

ccxii. cup

this single glance would be like a hand in between your thighs.

ccxi. pillow talk

the geometry of your body is stored on my tongue.

ccx. oneness of juju

my gut wrenches itself from me, along with my common sense leaving to huddle among the dirty clothes in my drawers.

ccix. there’s a place in my head

that all the 3,716,384 bad thoughts are sent to sit in a jail of stem cells and think about their wrongdoings.

ccviii. trailing

you want honesty. i want a lot of things.

ccvii. a song for leyte

and the rain fell. hard. harder than most had ever seen in a while. the wind blew steadily alongside the rain as it swiftly swept away everyone’s sins, only leaving redemption after the storm died away.

ccvi. shining

you wore your scars like jewelry. they had more beauty and meaning than any diamond could ever hope to possess.

ccv. poker dogs

i wish i could go back to eight hundred days ago when i still believed in the power of stars.