| Eighteen. Female. California. In transition. |


writers bl--i want to spit daylightwriters bl--
into your subconscious and drive away
those men with their hands made out of ink.
they write their secrets where
you swore you wouldn't tell.
but they have written dark novels on you and your lips bubble screams that
stop
where the silence starts.


call me "baby" again.your pretty words drip off of youcall me "baby" again.
like diamonds or sweat that
rises off the hot cement, reminiscent of the smoke from the cigarette you threw in my face, and
there.
there it is.
the smell
like burnt almonds, the smell you recognize (but you're not sure where from)
the smell of human flesh.
I Let Go

this is what you taught meSometimes you say 'whatever'this is what you taught me
like it's an SOS call. My back is straight and I'm speaking into Styrofoam cups, trying to reach you
faster than a plane ride, deeper than the Atlantic ocean, further than Orion's belt.
You look at me, fingering a swollen trachea and pomegranate skin that sits over nerves but never interacts.
I guess we are both guilty
of splitting our skulls open and letting logic slip out
in waterfalls, only you have taken china tea cups to your lips and seen straight through the bottom, you have turned weekends into four day holidays, you
--
an antique arms and armor expert
xo!
--
an antique arms and armor expert
--
"millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy sunday afternoon." -susan ertz
Thank you!
I just decided to take a gander at your page and we have the same amount of pageviews (as of right now).
Go us!
--
It takes courage to enjoy it!
--
It takes courage to enjoy it!
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