Writing

hope is a thing with feathers, you say.

i met it, once.

it's repulsive.

grotesque.

hideous.

it sings too, apparently.

cawing loudly,

off-key,

at 3 o'clock in the morning.

i break lines like a maniac 

obsessed with meter, st 

opping thoughts before they begin 

: a psy 

                 chotic insomniac frankenstein's 

it feels weird 

walking past you like strangers 

knowing i still remember 

everything about you 

from your favorite color 

You can do everything in the world to prove yourself, 

but sometimes you might not have to.

You just have to find the right people. 

this night 

the light is a milky, silvery blue 

cascading down from the sky

in rays that look like liquid silk

dripping off tree branches 

and coating the world in a cool, heavenly glow 

the rat chases me

it follows my every step

it stalks my every breath

the rat bites my ankles when i'm not looking

it makes me bleed

i cry in pain