Category: poetry + prose
i still make wishes on everything
I say too little, too much or nothing at all,simply because I feel and overthinktoo deeply, for better or worse.
i wish i could wind us like a clock
numb; living in standby.When you’re paralyzed but know you still exist through tingling bones, sparks down your spine, the grinding of a fork down your throat and a shaken, not stirred, heart.