"Lines from Places," I wrote, dark hush. Quiet pour in a few star sky- it lights up with world with brilliance unseen.
These are just homeless things I've put on paper. Wasting phrases, lacking order, sense, feel of rhythm, place. Mostly place, in celebration of my finished first journal.
I'm going to say a lot of words, and some should come out wrong. Some aren't going to match, yet some will be just right. These are the ones which worry me.
Don't tune someone out to accuse them of changing their song.
Withdrawal from people is the warning sign of a much worse condition.
There's always the taste of the rain and you. We'll love more than forgetting.
Hearts on sleeves and up in throats. Silly little notions we lose and forget, even though they brought about a world of background.
There's no music left, just the tumbling words falling around us like dust still settling; hearts and heads aching together.
Our irrational things are always the best.
Shadows in the brightness cause affection, but that doesn't allocate one the right to hide. Stand proud in fear; love loudly.
Start our riot, be so in love, speed me up, find solace in corners.
There's only great sleep for those who don't think or don't have to.
Stars look like city lights, and people look like voices should they talk loud enough.
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