embers

The air is gold, dripping gold with petals full of suffocation.  It is the tendrils of sunflowers, the buds caked inside of centrioles, ashes piling up to form catalysts. Our aura is a wretched one

suffocation

There's a type of suffocation in those rays, clouded and matted and burning up soil, hellfire licking ash into my throat. It's disgusting. I crave for it, my lungs are full of it.

soliloquy

I am constantly influenced by the thought of you missing me. One week or eighteen minutes ago. Do you wonder what I am doing? Are your thoughts full of me even though you constantly deny me? I am full of it, bursting at the seams, wondering if you are thinking of me. It is a…

poet

It is a terrible thing, being a poet. I find myself being in place of the dead, the cheater, the nectar and its lover. My soul is not one, but an inter-dimensional shape that is constantly changing forms. I am all at once a man and a woman. I have no gender. I am a…