"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Sunday, July 6, 2014


My insides collapse
at the thought of you--
like the hundredth attempt
at the beginnings of a novel--
I let them crumple
as if it was just paper
in my hand.

If this is what
you do to me now,
then I'm afraid
to take even
one more step

Because I don't know
if I can take

falling apart--
falling so hard


- - -

Oh hai. This one's about a girl.

1 comment:

"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."