crosswind gliding

Launching the sky

this is the beauty of the bittersweet fruits we stole from the golden goose that year;

i love how we decided to fly.

...

cross stitches kept across my forearms, but it's only thick black paint.

black and white stripes; i prefer checkered squares that get smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller until they turn inwards into a little spiral like the shell of a

sad, tired snail.

...

I have aches at the back of my knees and the joints in my fingers.

I cry but I blame it on the sneeze that never came.

I write poetry to slow my heart rate down; match it with the candle that strains to find a reason to breathe, or even the raindrops that plummet aimlessly; marbles played in dirty circles.

...

behind you,

in the mirror, i see someones finger pointing at my eyes.

...

In the description of some of my Spotify playlists, I write words. Hope you enjoyed a little collection of them.