I commit morals sins.
and feel absolutely nothing.
Theres 2,3,4 of me.

A hymn in my head.

Let me change.

Let you free.

Daisies bristle to the east.

But Mine Move with Yours.

And every stroke you make with your brush

Paints a lovely portrait on my face

They give my eyes honey touched tones

Made my lips misty

Spread carmine across my cheeks

And turned the corner of my lips upside.

What a picture you've painted.

The Earth.

Dear friend,

I got into Cornell, John Hopkins and BU :) and I got wait listed at Stanford

For the first time in a while, my dad seems proud of me.

Impatient

You'd look so sweet hurt.

You'd look so sweet hurt.

You'd look so sweet hurt.

You'd look so sweet dead.

Grand Central Station

FUCK FUCK FUCK her skin was so soft and I stared at it all day and when she look I turned around scared but her eyes were quite rosy the kind you get when smoked too much and then she laughed at me and kissed me softly and that always kills me I'm a bastard fuck you and fuck this and fuck you again and if you were taller id pick you up and fuck you upright and thats what he said to Marley but I didn't understand until now and he was so calm and reserved when Marley threatened him and I knew all Chris was thinking was how big Marleys balls were and then we went outside and took a walk around central park and I thought all day about how much I'm going to miss growing up here and how I dont want to leave but I should and how my therapist thinks I have social anxiety disorder so I sat in grand central and cried and then laughed because I always laugh after I cry too much because I'm a silly piece of fuck and then I read the whole new york times for that day like I had for the past 4 months and it took me until 2 am and I finally went home and dad asked me where I've been and I told him and he looked angry at me not because I was gone for so late on a Monday but because hes always angry at me for being embarrassed to show my level of intelligence or work on it but he's just a dumb fuck like everybody else and they can all go fuck themselves because I can be me however the fuck I want

A collision of raw emotions.

Tinyvices



A tattered, troublesome stamp, you try to stick. I'll have you know about that next time.

...

Copper hair. Bump down the road. Pure skin, russet eyes. A man I made. Defunk. You make me sickly, dear lovely.

Beet.

Thump. Fump. Imperfectly perfect. Every freckle, every speckle. All hairs, all scars ripple through. You control me now.

How can such an ugly thing become so beautiful at once.

...

Head gushing with tempered, angry flood.

...

Can't chya do me a good for once?

...

Give me an eyelash, sir.

Strangers On a Train

I love the NYC Subways. I haven't given much thought to it until these past few months.

Sometimes on days, I'll just hop on and spend a few hours in one. Entertainment is never scarce. But recently and particularly, I enjoy playing this new sort of game I find myself enticed by. I named it "strangers on a train." Oddly enough a few months later in english class, I found myself watching a movie with the same title.

It's a sort of thirty minute fun that fills me up with a brief rush of happiness, curiosity, paranoia and silliness. It happens coincidently. I position myself as usual at the end of the long bench, in a near empty cart, before the train heads to Manhattan. I turn on my music and wait patiently. Within a few stops- plop, you sit across from me. Thirty minutes is all we have to tell our stories with our expressions. I steal a quick glance, I look down pretending I don't see you stealing a glance, as well. I sway my head to my music, you tap your feet to yours. You take out a book, I nod or tilt my head in disapproval. I bite my lip, you run your hands through your hair. We move our bodies, we understand, we feel- all without saying a word. We know nothing about each other and yet within half an hour, we become silent companions.

It's your stop.

He gets up and gives me a warm smile. I wave.

Goodbye Stranger.