Category: Prose

I use a teacup from the thrift store for watercolor painting. I was originally going to break it with a hammer and use the shards to make a necklace, but that never happened, so now it’s my watercolor cup. I told you about the watercolor cup once, and, unless I was mistaken, you found it…

I remember the last night I knew anything about you. We were playing chess, and I was lost in whatever horrible, overcomplicated plan I had plotted out in my head. I think I had just lost my rook when you looked up to me and asked, as though it were just another move, “Would you…

Flowers blooming under my hands. Your face is blurred through the way you think of me. You were always a sea, by the way I came too late. Sometimes I feel dizzy and lied to. Sometimes you feel lied to. If we are deceived again, I just won’t be able to believe it. The slit…

The rising sun reminds me of heart-rot, and as the dawn breaks, so do my mold-filmed eyes. I can feel the bed beneath my back collapsing, and, as I sink, I am reminded of how everything else was beautiful. Could I ever have been free?