luminus-nox

I trace a house to another with roaring rivers that are capable of swallowing arks whole.

I rearrange the skies so that there is no eternal chase; the sun and moon dangle like dim light bulbs flickering on, off, on, off.

Half the world’s melted the other, a desert.

All I have are streets left unnamed; clocks that tell secrets other than time; the clouds, grey and heavy; and the flowers, not quite blooming not quite wilting:

i’d have roots that claw their way upwards instead, out of the earth, if i were a tree.

because this kind of feeling needs the sun on its face.

and it’s so strong, it starts to feel so right.

but this feeling’s so wrong, it’s beginning to feel so natural after all.

i have woodpeckers instead of butterflies in my stomach and

i named a hurricane after you, but turns out, there’s nothing sadder than being the only house left standing among piles of debris.

i’ve always thought there was something beautiful about destruction, and destruction has always left me feeling beautiful.

i mean, i’ve been hearing sirens in the distance all my life. and i’ve got more missed calls than the police station’s gotten rung in the past couple of years.

but i realise there’s no one who could really fall in love more with the sun than a wilting rose.