she speaks with ink.

i easily ended up thinking

that this version of me

had reached the autumn of its life.

my first reflex was always

to throw away the current song

i sang to myself in the shower,

to dilude in tap water

my hyperfixation of this cycle,

to kill off whatever this might be.

but it isn’t about the rebirth,

it isn’t about the renewal,

the egg that hatches on the other side.

it’s about the rotten egg i threw away

and hope to never see again.

it’s about the sulfur scented episode

i hope to bury by pretending

i was never anything other

than this new installation

that i’ll present to you.

this is who i am

for the next forty minutes,

maybe.

dude it feels like literally everyone i follow right now is on hiatus or something so my dash is so so dead!!!!!!