words and shit

I loved you like a language I never learned to speak, but still carved into my bones every time I said your name. I loved you with rebellion in my…

I buried the key to my heart under the roots of a sycamore tree, told myself I’d never need to open that door again. Too many ghosts living rent-free in…

The Pickaxe tear down this house. A hundred thousand new houses can be built from the transparent yellow carnelian buried beneath it, and the only way to get to that…

I write like the ink might ignite in my grip, like the page is a fuse and I’m tight on the tip. Like silence is violence that crawls through my…