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cigarette smudges
i'm used to seeing the mountain on the skyline but i can't anymore
yr something but i still miss her
sound of yr voice
the dust the streetlights show
film's too expensive
cold pavement
the trees at the coast that are bent backwards
dopamine-induced spitbubbles
to those who've sent me poetry:
you and yr stolen road signs
(PLAN B)
i'll end up a suicide statistic
miserable in the form of which i cannot write
you fucking floor
i miss the person i was 7 months ago
to those who i've sent poetry to:
guess fingers bleed sometimes
but i'd like to end up the opener you don't know
i'll refrain from saying much more
Fleas In My Skin
cigarette smudges (Torn Laces)
Saint Catherine's Wheel
sound of yr voice (Strepped)
Little Mouth
Calcium Wireframe
Terminally Lightheaded (Interlude)
The (Dis)Honesty of B.S Johnson's "The Dishonesty of Metaphor"
In That Moss Bed
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