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.

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.

cciii. i have no idea how to talk to you

it’s like you have some weird geometric gravity force field around you that whenever i enter, my vocal chords go numb. it’s starting to piss me off.

ccii. chai

yes, those leaves. don’t track them in.

cxcix. illegal assembly

we assembled on the bed and sketched out a dirty plan: while the environment was overflowing with game show chuckles, the heteroclite piano dwelled inaccurately, humming along to songs that we used to grasp. they will not be able to mask us as forgivable.

cxcii. soft and bloody

i like the deep, jagged cuts the best because they heal the prettiest pink.

clxxxviii. i hate to disappoint

but maybe i spoke too soon. then again, there’s a plus side to my saying that because that could just as easily be the case right now.

clxxxvii. funk

oh my darling, put your clothes back on.

clxxxvi. fun facts

if you lined up all the cigarettes i’ve ever smoked, end to end, they wouldn’t even come close to spanning the hole in my heart that i try to fill by killing myself as slowly as i can.

clxxxiv. the space between

like the grudge between the ground and the misty sky, averted eyes and chopped sentences. wondering when the other will point the distance out and journey towards coming all the way back.