7/12 although really 7/12 since its 2 in the morning

7-12

greek yogurt kissed with honey and strawberries should be dessert but is widely considered breakfast.

it tears up my stomach

i eat it anyway.

i don't remember how to write about feeling sad trapped angry lost lonely

like habit tells me i should

because things are so fucking beautiful.

my arms are getting buff

my spine is getting straight

and i know that time is an illusion

David Adam lets me draw murals on his back and walks five miles uphill to see me and our story breathes unconventional love for always

i rub cedar oil under my ears and on my heart

to have a little piece of the forest with me in this city of salt

once a man asked me where i was from and told me it was not here

he is right all technicalities aside.

Alby

Fionn

Seamus

Roisin

Rory

Teagan

Ros

Nolan

are Gaelic names i am stashing for when i have to name something. (someone?)

typing not sleeping

the story of my existence

even in my dreams i can smell typewriter ink

and hear the little bell

and see the words so defined on the page

i want to be reading but my legs are too jumpy

i want to be outside but my muscles are too lazy

my tea is lukewarm at best and i think it is time to retire as much as insomniac whore me wants to rebel

au revoir,

until we meet again