August 1, 2013
Summer is my spring and 4AM is my early evening.
I am the roots of the most unlikely wildflowers
And the ash at the ends of your cigarettes.
Watch me die, sinning
And begin again.
YOU ARE READING
The Why of Things
PoetryThis is not necessarily a journal or a diary. These snippets aren’t necessarily fiction or nonfiction. They’re not necessarily all personal, first-hand experiences or even told from my point of view. I don’t necessarily write for all 365 days of the...
