Writing

the bottom of drawers/that are in an old house/lined with wrapping paper/grandfather clocks/next to mahogany and peony/wet trees and moss/earthy tones/melted marshmallow/fancy perfume/that comes in a/glass bottle(s)/feather quills/ink/old books an

kssh/bump/you need to/

keep your head low/smoke and ash/

and oil/factories and steam/with bright lights/

dead patrol/in Hades's town/first a girl/with a red flower/then a boy/with a lyre/then a deal/then a sad/sad song.

We all push ourselves for something

we push

          for achievement

          for recognition

          for forgiveness

The moment I first saw you, I knew to be afraid.

i don’t seem to write much anymore.

Maybe it's because at one point the music got turned up real loud,

didn’t like the thoughts in my head,

the noise of the world. 

When I was little,

the window was a battlefield of light,

streetlights turned into stars,

and the world moved fast enough

for a hero to keep up with me.

He ran beside the car,