your dictionary of small print
I’m surprised. I give my life to little words like these and later, I find a few that aren’t terrible. Something to grow into.
Inside he is more beautiful than the sound of his own name.
I used to masquerade as twenty-one when I was fifteen because it was always so much easier that way. I could move out and pretend at life. People are still young enough at this age to say utterly useless things. Could you, would you, did you, etcetera et al. She saved my psyche, I think. Caring about all the things I didn’t have to. Self induced, gone now, chemical pliers removed.
If the calm doesn’t kill us, we ourselves will
Lately I feel like my playlist has more to say than I do. I need to learn music again. Tenor – chord, chord, chord. Tying the sound in bondage. Rythym, thum, humming. Thirty minutes of something more than I am. It would be a bit of a casket though. The pain of a sacred song done badly can almost hurt more than a knife. Splintered blades of sound. I don’t need that.
you paint bemusement with your tongue