tiny engines

In Framing
The Hotelier
In Framing

And the sirens cry loudly. I’m reflexive. I cry loudly. You put my picture in framing. Hung forever, left me strangling. Called me baby. And with your nature reversed and our home as our cage, you caved and you asked “is this coming of age?” As you climbed out the window, your face cold as stone, you lifted the towel. Your wrist showed the bone. Held my breath in the ER, I swayed as I stood. I tried to stay steady and protect you the best that I could. And you pretended to sleep the entire ride home but I heard you crying when you felt alone. 

Librarians Kill For That Kind Of Quiet
Dikembe
Librarians Kill For That Kind Of Quiet

 Dikembe - Librarians Kill For That Kind Of Quiet 

So I’m slipping into the stained glass of this muscle memory.
With my lungs like an index, I’ll be wading through context clues.
And things I should say like, “I wish I was brave enough to say this to you.”
But the effort it would place on a lasting impression. 

Dirty Cigarettes
Beach Slang

“Dirty Cigarettes” by Beach Slang

‘I write a lot. It’s mostly lies. I fall in love to pass the time. I never fit. I never tried. I need the struggle to feel alive. All I want are records on my stereo. I’m better off, baby, when I’m all alone. That’s a lie. Dirty cigarettes and a dirty soul. Tell me I’m enough. I am dying to know what it’s like. This sound is fucked, but I don’t mind. It’s wrong enough to feel alright. I think a lot, like all the time. I get in trouble when things get quiet. All I want are records on my stereo. I’m better off, baby, when I’m all alone. That’s a lie. Dirty cigarettes and a dirty soul. Tell me I’m enough. I am dying to know what it’s like.’