Friday, December 30, 2016



Thursday, December 22, 2016



That strange way the moon misses the white weak winter sun. To drive my forehead into your cheek to end this atrocious lack of focus. Grasping fistfuls of forever flowing black cascading hair. Single magic braid to match the tattoo. Fingertips melting into my nervous system. Palm your scalp and read it inside my chamber. The magnetism to crush you under the funeral door. Feed the growing nostalgia and empty the beast.

Friday, December 16, 2016


Silent Bob /

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