“Sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse than a whisky bottle in the hand of (another)… There are just some kind of men who - who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results.”
“By the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t know whether you’ve been kissed or cut, whether you were loved or butchered. and either way you probably won’t care, just grateful you came close enough to touch.”
“There were once two sisters who were not afriad of the dark because the dark was full of the other’s voice across the room, because even when the night was thick and starless they walked home together from the river seeing who could last the longest without turning on her flashlight, not afraid because sometimes in the pitch of night they’d lie on their backs in the middle of the path and look up until the stars came back and when they did, they’d reach their arms up to touch them and did.” -Jandy
Black crow eyed, and red thread stitched, I an etching on ice. I twist away from your ill intentions, avoiding distasters like it’s a dance.
I wear my tears like you’ve worn ribbons in your hair; a decoration, a declaration of what I am worth, of who I think I am. I have always been more sincere than you. More genuine. I never hid, like you, behind men and imitation.
I think you burned with the fields that fall. I think you all burned away into cinders and ash. I think I realized this just as all of you ceased glowing; a distant, far off meteor crash.
I know your ghosts were watching. You had the expectation I wouldn’t be able to thrive. That I’d lay down, instead, right there in your remains; a lostling unable to survive.