Some kinda freak.
My mother says sometimes I appear out of nowhere, like I'm an apparition. I scare her once or twice a week. And I know I'm odd, but I think that is a lovely compliment.
When Dean Winchester Wants to Write a Poem With Your Hands, You Let Him
The body, the blood, death. There isn't an answer for this.
I cipher and decode and wear the matching ring, but I don't know sunup from sundown.
It's funny how ghosts can leave such marks, move through flesh to bruise the heart,
Sometimes I lay in bed and think about how age would have worn you down.
Or wouldn't have.
Or how love would have changed your shape. And you become alien.
And I scramble back to photographically-induced memories. A drug I take to feel secure.
I strap on that time bomb and feel myself explode with forgetting.
I tell myself it's not much different from love.
But I can't be sure.
When Dean Winchester Wants to Write a Poem With Your Hands, You Let Him
The body, the blood, death. There isn't an answer for this.
I cipher and decode and wear the matching ring, but I don't know sunup from sundown.
It's funny how ghosts can leave such marks, move through flesh to bruise the heart,
Sometimes I lay in bed and think about how age would have worn you down.
Or wouldn't have.
Or how love would have changed your shape. And you become alien.
And I scramble back to photographically-induced memories. A drug I take to feel secure.
I strap on that time bomb and feel myself explode with forgetting.
I tell myself it's not much different from love.
But I can't be sure.