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running from carpet to bed so the monsters stay back, wishing on eyelashes,
drinking caprisuns in two seconds, the killers and death cab and the mistfits and conor oberst and iron and wine
playing in the background as loud as possible, running down a rocky road; feet slipping every few steps, teaching a young dog new tricks,
hating the smell of cigarette smoke, laughing until i cry for the smallest jokes, playing the sims all goddamn night while
harmonizing with norah jones, walking home in the rain with a makeshift umbrella, sweatpants, cardinals,
riding my bike everywhere, independence.



before the cough syrup and gel pills, the pipes and bongs, the
stealing and red eyes, the worn clothes and worn shoes, the papery skin and
bags under our eyes- when we slept, ate, and shit when needed.

but there was one good thing i found- and it's you, my love.
so as disgusted as i am with myself for losing myself in the smoke-
i wouldn't take any of it back, not even the toxins in my piss. i love you, and your arms pulling me away
to shelter me from the smell, fog, depression.