We run back to your house,
The lights are still on,
And they cover your freckled face,
Like it's the sun.
The grass brushes our feet,
And the wind catches in your hair,
And you look like you're in a movie
And you'll kiss me then
And when I think I'm used to it,
you do.
there's a jar on my nightstand;
it used to be my grandmother's
but i recycled her memory
into a pandora's box full of happiness.
the slips of paper are periwinkle
with dark purple penned messily,
I wake up under covers or chains,
Alone in a bed I didn't sleep in,
Clothes like a straight-jacket around my limbs,
My thoughts locked in the prison of my brain.
Outside it is snowing—a cotton cover,
my horoscope said i would lose someone dear to me,
you've never really believed in that astrology,
but i click on yours, and what i see staring back
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