Our skin is born anew every week. Seven days. We think nothing of the healing cuts fresh against our pale skin; you think nothing of the faint bruise ..
Crazy. Say that word. Hold it like you hold your breath before I tilt my face away from yours and push my way out of your dented, rumbling truck. Craz..
I am too afraid to tell my motherthings are getting bad again. Thereis sadness and it grabs me by the shouldersand shakes me to the core like amagic e..
This is where it ends and begins: I remember constellations of ink pressed into your shoulderblade, and I trace the shadows and colors with the tips o..
The truth hurts.Not like a bullet,But like a thousand razor bladesTracing the veins on my eyelids.Like tiny blue eyes that should be ours.Like firewor..