Poetry
<html> <body> He tells me online life is orgiastic, all mental spasms, congealing cancerous cysts licked by dread, self-flagellating until torn + tarred + turned on: – u ok? – Cossacks everywhere, hoofbeats, drumbeats, that ultraviolent noise, sensory deprivation up-regulated
Poetry
He’s just a boy, you tell yourself as you lean into the sad corners of his mouth, curling up, becoming small amongst those creases, tracing that auburn cowlick like a damp ring road, loneliness in the bedroom between you both, his jarring youth seemingly lost under the weight of the room’s waves
