province of the brave
He throws his heart down like a gauntlet
You will have no doubt and the sky will turn to gold
a dream was faintly clinging to my fingertips. accidentally i brushed my lips, poisoning myself.
I killed myself with clumsy ghosts.
Is it you, Sir, who cut me? Or is it I who cut you?
This terrain is constantly changing, but if you look closely, you can find the patterns
His eyes look out at me from people that I meet
ghost shapes seen only in shadow
It's colder than it looks outside
dream yourself goodbye
February 18, 2019
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
ride the wind, field full of clover
longish fingernails good for fishing reticent ghosts out of your closet corners
Were you 18 in the Spring of 1997?
How to get anywhere on the Earth in one hour
The sparkle of this angled blossoming was invading the Earth, and Vug said, "It's spring!" I kissed him.
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
That afternoon in amber, or dipped in gold and left on the mantle
Comin' to carry me home
Stiffness of a spring
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