//I wonder if my anger is inheritary//

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// Sanity is delusional //

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// I'll tell you I'm not a love poet//

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It's changing seasons, my heart,
sobriety hums a drunken note,
I'm painting the promises like the color
of your eyes
Home sounds so much like your name,
I'm drawing it like the freckles on your skin, again

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I am as helpless as the waves that belong to the earth and yet rise and fall to the rhythm of the moon, so unassertive of their existence, so down in love that they never realize the melancholy of the stretch.
Tell me will I last to see the dawn or submit my being, like the waves, to a love it can't call it's own?

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//because I am a creature of habit, I am addicted to falling in love with people who destroy me//

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so how do you talk in happiness
when all you're fluent in is guilts and regrets

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My body is not an apology letter handwritten in grief

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//My depression is a lover desperate for attention//

(continued in the caption)

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pain and anger often live in the same home, under different names

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