words and shit

There is incense in the walls.Sandalwood and salt.It clings to the air like memory—burned slow,never fully leaving. I used to wake to bells in my chest,a rhythm that knew sunrisebefore…

I used to leave a porch light on,just in case the night forgot its way.But now I sleep in pitch,no beacon, no welcome.Only the hum of streetlampsflickering like old grief.…

We are the fire that forgets it is fire,the city smoke curling around our ribs,the hurtling, brilliant bodies of want and regret.We clutch at each other like lifelines in the…

I drank her away—not in a single swallow,but in slow sips of forget. Each glass a psalm for what we were:laughter spilled across pillows,hands that knew the shape of breakingwithout…