it's such a shame to waste your time away like this.

I’ve got stardust burning holes in all my clothes - sheets - linens. My house is aflame and I’m standing on the sidewalk with my collection of vinyl in one hand and my fear in the other, and it’s dripping and there’s enough of it to douse the house and put out the fire - embers and flames burning yellow and orange and deep crimson but there’s blue in there, lonely blue, that is slowly growing larger and staring me down through cracked windows that are on the verge of shattering. There’s enough to soothe and mend and fix and heal and turn everything back into the perfection I idolize from a distance but the stardust is now on my skin and in my eyes and I’m dropping everything to put you out. It. I mean it. To save my soul before I save my memories. I’ll slid into them at night. Old thoughts. Warm thoughts. Familiar thoughts that make me feel at home, and safe and everything I stole from you or was it her that I raided? I think back to long nights on the roof and long plane trips and phone conversations. I think back to dragging out that cursed typewriter and breaking all the letters that spelt my name just to save me the agony of maybe developing an ego. Candles burnt and wax spilled and the buttons stopped working so the words that were spelt out all missed vowels that I drew in backwards and upside down just to make everything more of a puzzle. A large one, concocted out of lies and shame. I’m ashamed but I’m not hiding any of this anymore. I’m drawn out and mapped out heaven and hell and I’m somewhere above heaven, closer to hell and I’m sure if I take a right turn I’ll be right back against the wall, where you liked me best.




sup bitches.











election night at starbucks.