digestion.

Water has a purpose of drowning things
and so my words turn blue in my saliva
I swallow the words and blood inherits these colors
because my heart isn’t willing to digest them.

wonderland

How do I get rid of this lump in my throat?

Every time I think of you

I want to scream “wait for me”.

Yet here I remain staring down

and being stared down at.

Do I swallow it and hope for the best?

Or do I spit it out and bury it in the ground

hoping that they’ll flower to say

what I failed to.

I wish you were here.

In this stampede of voices

 you were my rabbit hole.

I’d love to escape with you again.

"The Last Echo"

In the old treehouse, I saw a little light. A little hope.

I remember when we were seven, we used to sneak up here and eat candy without fear of cavities and calories. The summer sun would rejoice with us and, when it was on break, we would watch the stars and map out galaxies we would visit. Winter’s chill would never scare us, even though we made ghosts with our words. We would whisper even though nobody was around us, made sure that a gentle breeze didn’t steal our secrets out of rickety windows. Walls lined with dreams and a sanctuary for our whispers, I remember when we used to be “we”.

I look at the tree house now, mangled in an embrace with the tree it used to rest on. It gives me comfort to know that the place of our friendship has gone back to its rightful owner. It stays sacred that way, and that’s how I feel about you. I still do.

[picture found here]