Thanks Mum

I like peonies.

pretty little fraud

I’m trying

come find me

I’m running, and running, but there’s no end in sight

wild wolves

with the wild wolves around you
in the morning I’ll call you

(what might have been lost)

Good-bye parties are bittersweet

much like good-byes themselves.

a fortress long abondoned by the warmth of laughter

Doe-eyed

unsatisfied.

We’re terrified of one another

and terrified of what that means

A Crackle in a Radio Song

Warm light when your eyes fill with laughter
Some animal lies in the pasture
Holes, in its throat where the blood was drawn
In its mouth where the tongue was torn
By your claws,
your claws,
your claws.

I woke from a dream; we were running
From every being that was hunting
But, we let them get ahead of us
We let them lie in wait for us
We’re fucked,
we’re fucked,
we’re fucked.

“In a Radio Song”

nineteenfortyfive