…it’s much less stressful to tie a string around that spotlight and tug a little to make sure you never quite leave its warmth.

…it’s much less stressful to tie a string around that spotlight and tug a little to make sure you never quite leave its warmth.
I bet you thought it would be different, being human.
…sharp teeth of an angel.
Poetry is only a moment.
Love with a whole heart, or not at all — not even a little.
I write what I feel, and I let it go.
We point at the path of sticky entrails and we blame you.
There is mad, mad joy to be found.
This can’t bode well, can it?
Living in my head, it’s not such a bad thing.