i'm always trapped. if it's not my body, it's the land. if it's not the land, it's my lover. if it's not my lover, it's the moon. but it's always something. maybe i'm trapped because of my incessant need to be free. if i do ever obtain it, i'll have nothing else to dream for. so it's always something. the circle haunts me. and it is this circle that is my destiny. the eyes; a circle. the moon; a circle. the compass; a circle. the rhythm; a circle. death; a circle. you; a circle. everything; a circle. everyone; a circle. all; a circle. infinity; a circle. nothing; a circle. always; a circle. always; a circle. always; a circle. circle of circles.

almost. there. almost. there. almost. there. almost. the constant rushed or lingering presence of time. the invariable needing. the skeletal embrace. ghost flesh memory. this feels familiar. i must have dreamed you before many times. i watched your eyes reflected in mine the night we couldn't touch. sharing the same visions. shaking our heads and speaking without uttering a single word. delicate mental thrusts. i, remembering. we knew. it's crystalline now. inevitably, you.

mesmerism of morphing clouds just the right shade of gray. scrying. waiting. attempting to steady my soul in this quiet solitude. it's hard to say how it happened, or why. only time will tell. for the risk has been made.

in my journal, without thinking i began writing. in french, i wrote,
"parce que. je suis fatiguée. parce que. je suis desolee. et rien. rien à rien. mon amour. mon coeur est manquant."

(self. untitled screenshot, 2012.)

gutter. you could take me. my valves feel like scum--(and i bet they look like you on the inside)