it's p bad rn

your beating heart

is roughly the size

of your raised
closed fist.
 
to keep it so,

this defiant animal,
living thing –

to make its

involuntary sobbing

beneath your ribs

a bright, if broken,

cry of pride
(yours and
cornered kin),
to be, to remain –
 
to exist

is to resist.
—  to see love thrive in a wasteland, k.f.

“While most people are out getting lit i’m stuck in my room writing a fucking paper because giving homework on a Friday and making it due Saturday morning is a humane thing my professor is deciding to start now. Imma need you to do this for me or give me some sort of entertainment so i can get through this shit without dying of boredom.”