oh yeah, that's right

i'm doin' meee

i love how it's made.
eff.

writer's craft

he drove me home at 3am on my 18th birthday;
home being my childhood house in orangeville,
which i hadn't seen in nine years.
we went in his van,
and stopped six times at tim horton's,
and once in the middle of nowhere.
coffee and a smoke, coffee and a smoke.
we sang along to cheery songs about death,
and didn't cry, for once.
he was texting her that night too,
but i won't ask for too much.
after all,
when i see his straight teeth through his crooked smile,
and his low voice tells me he misses me too,
i love and hate it all the same way.

sleep?

what is this "sleep" you speak of?

there is no
such
thing





if i close my eyes real hard
then maybe you will disappear

"if i can't see you, you can't see me"

AND STILL I CANNOT SLEEP

hamlet in a hairnet

i love knowing that there are people out there who understand each other
and i love knowing that they still fight sometimes

because hey,
we're only human.

but humans are the only species that can love, huh?
(for all us humans know)

we're only human,
we're only human,
and that's enough
for me.

half full

all the cracks in the walls
just wanna be spiders
like all of the dreams
kept deep down inside us
that never become
what our dreams dream to be
leaving cracks on the walls
dreaming spiders-to-be



hello again, my everything.