Vancouver, you’re as gray as usual today, but as my hometown – in a way – I never really mind. my thoughts and worries are bouncing in my head, but the rattles are drowned out
the loudest parts of recovery happens in the quietest corners of bedrooms. witnessed by nobody and nothing but that poster from childhood, the bed with its tangled up sheets – the sliver of 3 am
Take a pill, Swallow doubt like a shot in the dark. If I slip I slip, Into love more like a relapse. There’s a flame inside stuck on ignition, spitting smoke more like an SOS.
the soft patter of raindrops in the morning syncs with the slow thrum of the heart, weaving melancholy, ebbing anxiety, i close my eyes and try to re-free fall back into dreams – where there’s
Shadows of lives, barely human, clinging onto the pre-dawn mist. Morning hue paints our shapes in pale watercolour strokes, leaking our memories onto pavement, colouring their edges with unsaid words and distant thoughts.
I’m sinking in a body that never felt like it was mine. Memorized the weight, its creases and corners. Knelt into it, an atonement, Carried it into dreams, omnipresent. Under the blistering summer sun I
for a while now, these words hidden buried in pockets clenched tightly inside sweaty palms, forming confessions, prayers, intertwined with the lint and $1.25 loose change. over and over ive memorised how they felt in
You try to settle within your skin, the home you were long given, make your bed between the bones and sinew. Sometimes you want to tear the greying wallpaper down, fingernails to wall to wall,
We’ve walked lifetimes to meet here, opposite sides of a river rolling, dancing downhill; turmoil and crashing currents of impossibly, between the love, the warmth, all of it and none of it. We speak as
We can turn the guilt between our fingertips, wondering, if we can’t forgive ourselves for all the small things, how can we forgive ourselves for anything? Confess our sins at a broken down payphone late