my songs are going to come true
and one by one, each one of you, too,
Try to relinquish my thoughts, but what would that do?
a songstress with something on her mind,
and nothing to fall on top of behind,
trying to patch things that never were, or never was
doesn't matter if it never takes off
because all of this will always be enough.
little scenes and pieces of the
audio visual cool girl
scatter into the screen
with hues of purple light blinding her machines
paths and documents and crowds and rejections
brilliantly laid out, a world of nonfiction
will she ever surmount to the crazy idle teen
but I know most times it never hurts for her to try, however alone she might be
I seem paranormal to you. it only hurts on days when I see your friends come passing by and I will talk like everything is alright but nothing good really comes out then it happens and their petty words turn to fable, all of the rumors that I heard come true a day or two later
-s's.
-s’s
before your afterlife you choose to be your own type of fire that could both keep you warm and torture you tonight
everything I've done keeps me up at night, walking through the gallery hallways of my mind
-s's.
-s's.
Walt Whitman
-s's.
this day Summer resurrected from her grave Once again the wind sends the birds that dissolve into dust Sending thoughts northward This is the coldest tear you’ll ever shed Sparks rip your wells to puddles Stars fall on the floor When it starts happening You realize you don’t like it anymore
life, a big black hole
got me leaning in, in some way
I don’t recall anyone on the horizon
I’m all alone, it’s sucking me in
Sucking into the time hole, again
Nobody I know, Nobody I will
-s’s.