kaffein

the next time i invite you over, come lay your pretty head in my lap and i'll tell you of the first time i went mad.

if in the end, we all become stories, then i'd like to be my mother's favourite one to tell.

december, dearest must you leave so soon? i have only just welcomed in your trodden snow, yet you desire to leave behind footprints before the night's noon?

dark, black, no sweetness, mere wonder my coffee order is the same as the taste of the universe, not my soul.

god, let me say something for once, and for once, let someone hear it

behind every hand holding a quill is a soul that plucked his own feather, making a song out of the pain

my naive lover picks me up with woven hands and wraps me like a scarf around her neck, not knowing that i am the noose tied to kill.

if all good things start terrible, then why is a burning match the beginning of you and i?

it's so easy to pretend to be someone else when you do not know who you are but i know myself, so why do i still act like someone who doesn't love you?

but life is not terrible at all. how could it be, when the sun still rises in the east and the woodpecker makes song in foraging ?

i want to touch someone. no, not kiss. nor fuck. just a tender finger on their lap, or a shin against their back. a pulse thrumming beneath my skin. a breath fluttering over my hair. that's all i need. that's all i ask.

i want to sit on the floor, i think. and i think i want to be kind. i want to greet the spider crawling on my crayons and i want to say goodbye to the ant who just drowned in my coffee.