Icarus to inner thoughtsWe burn upWe go farMarinas to JupiterWe live on fringesWe are extremophiles Specters to living deadWe switch overWe become what we’re not

I was born to take care of flowers, nodding in the off current winds, sweet later summers scents saturated in humidity, I was born to be among them, to live unencapsulated stretched to the stratosphere, under the pink to orange clouds, existing where the night and day meet, and leave, and unable to put words…

I’m sorryI don’t want to hear itIt’s forFor whatWe just have to make itTo midnight Then midnight Then midnightThen midnightAnd after all the midnights We can liveLearn to survive With the fucked up shitShitShitIt’s all shitThe fucked up shit The world does to usAnd it doesn’t even matter ToThemAnd we still Make it To midnight…

There is a soft hum of thingsThings being hummed aliveThings beingMy exhaustion, the AC unit, a conversation drifting out a window, truths I try to not make time for, hungerHunger that came to me in a dreamA living sensation like a memoryThat felt lived and loved Deeply it feels alive and loving How can the…