just because it’s black and white doesn’t mean it’s art just because it rhymes doesn’t mean it’s poetic my back arches like a cathedral and that doesn’t make it holy only dripping in sin and not seeking salvation can come close to the masterpieces men make when it matters.

Sometimes, after my coffee, I like to scream.

SHAKESPEARE (writing in cursive): "To be or not to be, that is the—wait, is that a 'z' or a 'w'? Whatever, let's just stab something."

it’s bloody hands after a brawl and quoting verses drunk and alive at midnight with men too round to do anything else but stare and go line for line it’s sex in smeared makeup howling in the street disguising grief as rage it’s grit in all its filthy beauty smiling.

At least this migraine gives me an excuse to go to bed at 7:30.

timekeeper the clock on my wall is always wrong it started slowly off by a few minutes now by 48 at first I tried to fix it changed its battery wound it now I let it be I’m in no hurry & it’s still my favorite clock even if it’s just a reminder of how bad timing shapes a life.

I’m not funny on the first date. I can’t have everyone falling in love with me so quickly.

I think it said something about sandwiches.

For a small fee I’ll key his car. No questions asked.

Friday sleepy hits different.

What’s your toxic trait? Mine is that one time I liked a man.

sometimes insanity is a poem or a man without sometimes it’s getting up to go to work and believing that today will be different but mostly It’s quiet desperations the curves of her body and the way her eyes remain soft fixed gaze even when malice tried to break her in two.

i don't do casual i do blood oaths under the full moon

I wonder how fast superheroes jerk off? See. It’s not always poetry and intellectualism with me.

You don't love that sparkle in her eyes, you just have astigmatism

sometimes I write these great tweets, and you guys miss them because you’re staring at my butt.

thunderstorms wake me and hold me tight.

the closest I ever came to believing in god was when he was inside of me but we remained an almost a poem in a notebook unfinished so in its simplest form the only altar I will ever pray at is ours.

Anyone wanna listen to the rain with me? I’m cute.

Unless it’s a puppy or a hot dog, I don’t want to see your weiner.