She blinked and blinked in an attempt to expel this obvious hallucination but instead of her finger returning to its normal shape, she watched the nail and then the entire joint disappear.
Read More
“Yes. A lawyer, a young man not unlike yourself, forced a letter into my hand. The truth is I’m a multi-millionaire.”
Read More
I’m contractually obligated to be sixteen twice a month
Read More
I turn back:
a horse from the borders
whinnies in wind
hungry for war.
How freeing it must feel to be spatchcocked.
Read More
If you care what others think, even a little (is it possible to care only a little?), then you will
become a sixteen year old girl writing poems in her notes app at eight P.M. This is supported, of
course, by a because.
there is no escape.
it’s as simple as that.
and it won’t
stop the poems
but will change them.