xxxxx

i remember asking for art. and so, pain, little blossoming acid ticks, ants. and it's a fault in my wiring, fault of mine. i'm sucking on a muesli bar, biting skin off my lips, and the worst pain that doesn't translate, isolates.

like a cold sweat from a steaming kettle, feet too warm, painful teeth, sunlight on an empty stomach.

and none of it matters. none of it is seen. i asked for art and my guts are risen. i can't even crawl out of this playlist.

and all the bizarre fucking truth of, in a few hours, i am not even alone. i am in love with my soul mate, in my charming house, with a new job role, and i have an axe wound in my very centre. you don't get to be sad when you're happy.

there's too many ways in.

keepsake

"keepsake (n.) The fake feather that you found, now in my wallet; incomplete creature, completed by memory."

—The Lover's Dictionary (Unabridged); David Levithan

every single morning

"Every single morning is beautiful. Chipped china, fresh juice, the hum of blankets, intricate hugs. Late trains, the riptide of graffiti, against mesmerising sky, mushrooms through bitumen, engraved glass. The toothache, the too soon, the thoughts about tomorrow. A warm song, the whole world shot in reverse. The birds, all of the birds, the leather boots. The words and the arrival, every drop of love. The single firecracker of this moment, before. Every single morning is beautiful."

—Ian William L.

invincible summer

"In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer."

—Albert Camus

little ode on st. anne's day

"You're growing up, and rain sort of remains, on the branches of a tree, that will someday rule the Earth. And that's good, that there's rain. It clears the month, of your sorry rainbow expressions, and clears the streets, of the silent armies, so we can dance."

—Little Ode On St. Anne's Day; Jim Carroll