I spew all these words at you, releasing them from bonking around up in my noggin causing a ruckus.
the first time you trust a pack of hungry dogs to watch your newborn, they will relish in ripping and devouring its tender flesh; knawing bits of stubborn cartilage til there is nothing left to feast on. — they hiss and growl at you for not having more.
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The peeping tom has taken up running or biking whatever it is that requires two-piece spandex body suits and frequenting my coffee shop since I moved. — when I feel his eyes on me staring as I sit at my table, or staring as I enter from a walk; I would rather take an orangepeeler…
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My brain wakes up and cries for the death of its living baby. so used to hurling ourselves [booze] down the hatch, the still afterwake unscathed is surreal; like crying when happy, our system malfunctions.
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Finding a tiny feather on the sidewalk does not mean you can grab it. do not try to nail it down beneath claws; the wind will pick it up and fly it away [do not try to make nest of it] it may look like a part of you, but it is not you, or…
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short-shorted piggy-bunned riding that baby blue bike through the grass fronts of small business and edges of town on a monday day. — no one knows you’re 27. pedophiles eye you, suspiciously, that you know how traffic functions.
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exertion charred lungs feel good after branding, though spin class is actual hell. endorphins, you are not booze or coffee, but you are okay [for now] — suddenly there is so much more to do. Not addiction constrained to certain locations everywhere is a place to be; my body, unhooked from IV free to explore.…
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My actual thought if I see someone is: -sitting alone with sunglasses on in a parked car at any park, -sitting alone in a hotel hottub, -me, -peewee herman. — i just left a sweat mark on a brick wall, a brick mark on a sweat back, and not even from anything fun.
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Craves a fucking salad. chop me up and throw me into your mouth, crunch down on me and swallow eating me will not nourish you [but that isn’t what you’re going for] sweetheart, i will not make you beautiful but you will love me for it. — Crisp
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if I was a character in an RPG my race would, regretably, be human. — my class would be druid. As one of the earth, my power Would be dependent upon moon and sun cycles. I would channel energy via proper execution of mythical centering techniques [in hopes to ground] — As this shapeshifter, my…
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Hello, con man. I see you there, comprised of all those scared mice. You are fooling no one performing in new-formed shapes. — I sure do miss that one form. he wore those old jeans, cut down, around your calves like- –you know the ones– -that make me want to touch you, in that way we…
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