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This is where I am right now: feel like setting myself on fire on rereading the stuff I've done. But, at least I'm finishing, even if I did burn out ...

"niente" I never wrote a love song that didn't go wrong but we can call it freedom when my voice breaks, and we can call it justice when my hands ...

tracing highway lines with scabbed over fingers we wonder where will went and we pump gas to the engine like there's suicide in black lines on black asphalt and our ...

DAY XXVII I'm blinded by parhelions and I brush magma with my tongue, sun-colored words spoken from a burnt mouth, and the car burns gasoline like whiplashed songs from that ...

All of your work is excellent, but this last poem is just...breathingtakingly so.

orly now?

it's days like these when I can't pray. God is gone, filling the potholes with rain and telling little girls that they shouldn't worry, they'll grow up to be beautiful ...

I think that I've read every piece in here and just kind of sighed out "Excellent," after each one. Great little thread you've got here.

Mornings for me have never been too pretty. They usually start like this: and then proceed onto this, once I've actually opened my eyes:

DAY XXVI catscratch ideologies on my collarbones like scrimshaw; we taxidermy mythology with glass and quiet rooms (pliers and glue and broken bones) and our words never meant anything because ...

ENCORE!

Dun doubt I will.

I'm glad. I amuse myself as well. Too much alone time, probably.

For some reason, chat has abruptly taken a disliking to me. Whenever I try to login, it stops loading at 94%, at Loading Resources. A little message comes up about ...

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH MEEEE