I know it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have so many triggers, but in some other world gigantic seashells hold humans to their ears and listen to the echo of machines.

Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

If you heard your lover scream in the next room and you ran in and saw his pinkie on the floor, in a small puddle of blood. You wouldn't rush to the pinkie and say, 'Darling, are you OK? ' No, you'd wrap your arms around his shoulders and worry about the pinkie later. The same holds true if you heard the scream, ran in and saw his hand or -god forbid- his whole arm. But suppose you hear your lover scream in the next room, and you run in and his head is on the floor next to his body. Which do you rush to and comfort first?

Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out of cigarettes.

I want to whisper poetry into your mind and imprint love letters to your soul and dance with you in an empty white room of potential

I realise there's something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they're experts at letting things go.

No rescue boat can save the touches I left bobbing in the wild ocean of your flesh, but if they cut open your heart, like the belly of a shark, dumped its contents on a table—would there be any trace of me?