"For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns."
A D R E A M
he blew out the candles and told me what he wished for. my fingers crawling to my thighs for a meeting and you can taste the birthday cake the next morning on his lips. and when his bones rattle and slide out of his skin at seven o'clock in the morning, we know!
T H E A M E R I C A N D R E A M
a sugar cane boy, the cyst covered moon, and me. the trilogy. sugar cane boy is in a coma, the cyst covered moon is oh so lonely, and i, i am expelled to the secondary character roll in my own picture book with little to none dialogue.
E V E R Y L I T T L E G I R L S D R E A M
he engraved his name onto her heart and now it's the size of the moon. SWOLLEN. and i pop pills to help with the recurring thought the world is going to end and that i contributed to it. have you ever really thought about that? but maybe im just being paranoid. and like the landfills on the earth; there's one specifically for you in my mind, where every imagination and scene and thought goes to rot. and it's starting to overflow, seeping from my pores. so now my brain is just a junkyard where you go to die in poverty.
