scorpia

how many “i love yous” can you fit in your mouth?

the list of things i used to be far exceeds the list of things i am

don't talk to the bad animals

NSFWOHC: not safe for work or human consumption

mourn the loss of the idea & begin again

more spider, less man

there, but for the grace of ??? go i

strawberry lonely & honeydew blue

he's a real Renaissance Man a real Baroque Man a real Classic Man a real Romantic Man a real Modern Man a real Post-Modern Man

an emerald spider slips between my spine. i am going into the dark. it spins a soft web of viridian light, offers me 8 hands to hold

i pull the earthworms out from beneath my skin and tell them, "i love you, but you can't live here anymore"

i am not going to reinvent myself; i am only going to disassemble my machinery, wipe off the rust, and put the parts back together

roots sprout from the soles of my feet, daisies grow from my fingertips. i open my mouth and honeybees fly out

even the mountain fidgets, even the hummingbird is still

i sometimes feel like every time i speak, no matter which words i use in what order, i am only ever trying to articulate the same thing

joy has nothing to do with happiness

i want to listen to it growl from the inside. i want its vibrations to rattle my bones until they break

i want to shrink myself to the size of a thumbtack and fall into the belly of a cello

sticky air & pale blue clouds & cold concrete & a stomach that refuses to stop churning