September 2011
4 posts
10 tags
Madeline
She is always “sixteen years old… three weeks of something.” She spent summer afternoons in her basement, which was empty except for an unused sewing machine, two couches and a library of second-hand novels. Boys reached up her shirt and she loaned books to them: books that smelled like small towns, the corners of the pages curled from nicotine. She polished herself with eyeliner,...
Sep 29th
4 notes
8 tags
sabbatical
This thing inside him has symmetry; those talons within, outstretched and colorless, aren’t just archaic. They’re ancient,a portion of a bigger fallacy. This thing inside him is not shapeless; its form is on the underside of a crosswalk, inscribed in shithouse vandalism. He sees jaws gnawing through his ligaments, plunging through muscle and murky with blood. In reality, those jaws are...
Sep 22nd
1 note
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If you write poetry or prose and want to spread it around on tumblr, submit it here.
Sep 22nd
1 note
Anonymous asked: sometimes at night my pen15 sticks up. what does this mean
Sep 18th