He was crushing candies.
She was breathing Sylvia Plath’s Bluebeard.
They were on the same ride;
or not!
-s
He was crushing candies.
She was breathing Sylvia Plath’s Bluebeard.
They were on the same ride;
or not!
-s
– Why are you awake at 5:41am?!
– Bad dreams. too much red.
Full stop.
-s
I passed by him and got on the wrong train car!
-s
“– I don’t love you any more.
– Since when?
– Now, just now.”
Happy-ending love stories?
What a blue Monday!
-s
A few minutes after half past ten.
Lipstick stains.
No sugar.
Black.
C’est tout.
-s
One would never go back to writing; writing will always come back to one!
Hello, world! I’m back!
x
-s
… so I saw this guy, identical to Michael Stipe, and paid him a smile.
Then I thought to myself, thank goodness for Thursdays!
-s
On the road.
Wet road just like
your mouth when my heart
fell down.
When your reason was
framed in self destruction.
The glass cried red bitterness.
Grace.
Grace fell asleep on your planet;
the orange sky became turquoise;
tenderness turned into black.
Look at me now;
I am now.
– S
Montreal – March 5, 2014
What if I can’t say what I must say?
What if…
So what?
So.
– S