Poetry
Don’t forget the hiding thought that made the moon so embarrassed. I’m embarrassed too moon, for you & your second-hand shine. Your eclipsing self-regard, your fictional solace above in a nova of salt angels & astronauts fucking on your aromatic moon belly washing away the footprints of
Home
The cars make incredible noise as they slowly kill the environment; eyes long and yellow, their bodies parading their own masochism. And I would love to be angry. Because I know they’re slowly killing me and everyone, I know everyone is slowly killing everyone. (I don’t want to sound numb
