You are the trigger that reignites
an enmity of adoration and abhorrence
in the very fibres of my being.
I don't hate you, on the contrary;
it is easier to be angry
than to admit I am broken.
The state I am in is one of careless mend,
a whole made out of pieces,
a volatile kind of stable,
a looming sort of combustion
that threatens to explode at our every almost-touch.
I don't hate you, S.
Hookup: New York Moments Part 2
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We stumble out of the basement bar at some hour of the night. It was dark
still but I felt the sunrise starting to creep behind us like a strong wind
for...
3 days ago