playwright /
Sometimes I'm / - Subscribe
and sometimes I walk the dark streets of these neighborhoods alone, sucking in the night air like a last breath and wishing I could solve your life with the simple brush of hair against skin, or simple words that simply float out of my mouth, or a not-empty wallet. Worrying about worrying about things, too many things, two people who can and can't and will and will, will, will.
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Hello,
little girl lost in halos, traipsing through fields of cinnamon and snow, Christmas tree gardens beginning to grow under your little feet, breathing in childhood memory. How many empty hearts will you follow? How many empty bottles will you swallow? The numbers you collect jangle like keys in your pocket, if only you would take them out and spend them on so many waiting doors. Janitor of burdens, let go of your rusting collections piece by ancient piece, quit your job, flee the country.
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