Black as fresh-made coffee.
You have to listen to “Dead Friend” by Against Me! when you read this poem. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
What are you building, sickman?
Rain: translucent, crystallized youth on sticky, tender lips.
Teach me, Gilgamesh.
Third time’s the charm.
What does it take…?
“Tiny heart, stuck inside yourself, when will you open up for me?”
Sappho’s makeup, alcoholism, selfies, and my mom–in that order.
Write one song for me.
“Please God forgive me…”