a man with no shame over my pillow hovering. i am not free, not awake. the old man comes along like shadows and tells me that i may not survive the rubble of her.

that time
when you
liked the
stupid thing
i made
and then
i saw
it sticking
out the
pocket of
your hoodie

this is good,
actually.

this is good.

burning.

“How well I know with what burning intensity you live. You have experienced many lives already, including several you have shared with me - full rich lives from birth to death, and you just have to have these rest periods in between.”

― Anaïs Nin

i found a little part of me that was still the same, but my head was under a pillow. it was a dream. like a feeling you get when you realize you almost choked, but your body coughed it out. the angels are still hangin’ around. they’re still holding you close. waiting for when. ...and don’t speak, they can hear you. it’s happening again.

Courtney Barnett: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert

I might not know how to begin or how anything ends, but there is something in my mind that beckons to be recognized. Something I have always known, yet do not yet know. I have shook hands with the consciousness that will drive even the most collected of us to bite the ripened succulent fruit of insanity. Dreams deceive such a delicate realness and beads of sweat stamp a puny defeat so with the most insulting and graceful drip to demise.

there's so much sawdust swarming in my mind & my synapses are relentless chainsaws that won't cease. this is a time of passage both within and outside of myself to uncharted experiences. the balance beam is screaming in me, and one side is ready to just utterly collapse. it's been teetering for years, and i'm panicking in anticipation of surrender. i've been trembling, even during the day, afraid the moon is disappointed of my forsaking.