my inbox is a graveyard: I live and let down with storms as they come. change is a ghost I have known and want to believe in again. water runs through drains to clouds that drift for stars. this body belonged to a child who couldn’t sleep or wait to grow up. when did he stop counting how many sleeps until Christmas?
Wednesday, December 4, 2024
until Christmas
every breath feigns control of the beast. the addictions stunt his body and the mind I wish I knew a little less. no pill or thought bares poison enough to forget who or how I am. the self transcends will beyond mirrors. we should know better than to hope for growth behind the curtain.
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