Poems from lostlikeme
heart of a hot glue gun
scalding, sticky
in the shape of a weapon
used by tortured artists
to torture us with art
kissing is quicksand
in...
Lately,
everything feels a little more impossible
unstoppable, improbable,
those dream bubbles?
They're poppable.
The meaning of...
Double-check the mirror
for my mother's eyes
(two bruised plums)
I'm still afraid
to go into the kitchen
(It's late and the shadows
move...
Last night,
I lost my left sock
and chased it through the dryer
to a land with luxury tax
on laundry detergent
and shit piled on the...
Picture this:
the two of us, in bed
white sheets, black holes
No, blown pupils
we can't stop staring
As long as you don't
fall asleep first...