listen. i'm not going to keep doing this. erecting you from the dead by combing through old vowel sounds. a playing ground of lessened memories where you sound somehow more human. and i more harsh. i'm tired of living life under the auspices of a lie that poses as love. i've grown suspicious of the word. love. like some emotional jesus we're meant to give homage. everything isn't heat and light. and twinkling christmas bulbs. and i'm no hostage to you. will no longer pray at your edges. false gods. and faith won't mix my days into beautiful canvases. i am spilled ink. instead. and steady quiet still. to wait and wait all days long. til something human comes.


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