GOD IS A TEENAGE GIRL

hurt is so useless. i used to tell myself otherwise to feel good about it! but it’s stupid and useless. 

woman.

who knew that sitting alone at night could breed sadness so rapidly. especially outside, where it’s quiet, but not eerily quiet. soothing quiet! the quiet that wants you to think, and cry.

i often think, where am i blind. am i the cascading fire, ever-tossed and brilliant? or sun spots. cold things give off less light than warm things, after all, but which are you. can anyone tell, when they’re staring at that burning thing? 

my eyes are open. my hair is tamed. my heart is cramping. 

here is a selfie of me: there is steam where my head should be, and the rest of my body is the soft puzzle of people you see in the window's reflection on your busride home.

people write too many odes to the sun. what has she done? burn my eyes?

smells like culmination.