there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
He speaks with a purpose that dema… with soft, soliloquy of word to sh… the emulsification, the blood of b… and women carrying the weight of m… Storyteller. Anthropologist.
it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
I list their names on my heart Count them... ad nauseum, infinity… They, who sew my shroud. I list their names on my heart They, who released it
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
She walked the raised concrete streets, built from the backs of someone whom she didn’t know. She walked the raised concrete streets, surrounded by creatures of origin. The rain cascade...
and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught
base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine
yes... a million times over, I sai… to him, to them to everyone, to no one I gave pieces of me Perhaps
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated
there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
my heart has rooms that sigh filled with dust of disuse, of mis… Waking world
eyes awaken, asleep. I dream the taste of purple I dream the touch of you. I dream of tall grass fields on my… shuddering in magnificent breath.
