Dear World, Quit Whoring Out My Moon

From my head and room 203 in Wythville, Va.

Snowstorms as targets. Still falling in and out, trying to figure out where you learned the art of heart breaking and side entry. From the couch, each of your inkblot tests look more like my insides than anything else.

Kicks, hoodies, tees, and sleeves. Now you can hold yourself hostage. Negotiate yourself inside and out. LoveHostage AffairCrisis

I'm not just another carrier for this disease, I'm the host. Supplying your next fix on a daily basis.

And it's all just an attempt to see you s(w)oon.