Do not look for a sanctuary in anyone except yourself.
I hate you, but I still I miss you, and a part of me still loves you.
If you think you can grasp me, think again: my story flows in more than one direction, a delta springing from the river bed with its five fingers spread.
I am myself. That is not enough.
You are flowers in my stomach.
Cutting me open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs.
I only want to be the sun for you.
People run from rain but
in bathtubs full of
“A ciggerette for all of your problems”