#everyday write

[shayadwohsune]

but what if they get with someone right after the breakup?

[dead-kun]

self-pitying bullshit (prose poem)

somewhere between my lungs and diaphragm there’s a dusty wooden chest where i keep all the disorders that have been passed down to me from my ancestors, pressed down with a thick layer of empty notebooks and spearmint it thumps slowly/rhythmically against the wood of the chest to the rhythm of waves slapping the shore of the beach on a cold day in february that smells like peaches and i’d like to apologize to the scalpel i stole from miss D’s classroom, too. when i went to the ER, i looked into another room, and there was an old man in there, hooked up to a breathing machine. i couldn't tell you that. i couldn’t tell you why i peel off the scabs my body makes, harpsichords ringing in my ears.

[dead-kun]

jackalope boy (character sketch)

The boy with the nails hammered into his hips is a traveling actor. He keeps his long hair pinned up and his brown eyes (like a snowglobe) turned low. He’s summer-steamy and doesn’t wear shoes. He wraps his hips in bandages and gauze to hide the nails and he falls in love easy and hard. He kisses goldfish along the river-shore. He drinks from the garden hose behind the open-sky theater. He showers in the garden hose behind the open-sky theater. The clear water falls down in sparkles by his bare feet, the sun shooting through them, Cupid’s arrows. His troupe only visits this town in the summer. No one’s heard of them being anywhere else, though. Like they just turn into shimmers over the asphalt. Have you seen him perform, though? His knuckles always seem bruised. I think he’s got a thing for you, man.