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A glass of nostalgia. You'll find yourself, at the bottom.

Sunrise is living, Dancing to the seasons change, Spring has come again.

Tiresome old men, grumbeling inanities across an empty feasting hall. The stench of stale ale fills the room, and light creeps in throu the seems or grand windows, borded up with chipboard. A truely horrific day. The urge to drown oneself in the remaining wine, is the only one worth mentioning amougst such putrid forms, strewn like choice almonds on a value merangue roulade. I could slaughter every last one of them. And I wouldnt feel the least bit of regret for my actions afterwards. Death for them is a promotion. They should welcome me.

somebody once told me you can hear the northern lights. I want to. my lover tells me the northern lights are charged particles in the atmosphere making and breaking bonds like all of our thousand lives reincarnate on flash-forward. I want to hear that. I want to rear up on my hind legs like a Kermode bear and listen for the quiet exclamations and sighs, for the cacophony of sounds that everyone, even electrons, make when they break bonds, for a chance to see it from a distance. all those new beginnings and endings. all that beauty. all that quiet, after. ---

When I breathe into the empty blue morning, my breath fogs up in the too-cold-for-this-time-of-year air and I wish I could pull it back into me. I'm not quite awake and not quite asleep, but I'm conscious of the day and the time and the rain that prickles my face through the open screen window. I wish you a quiet happy birthday under my breath because I might have lost the right to make you happy, but I'll still wish it forever. Your name on my lips hurts and it's a struggle to move the air past my vocal cords in a way that will actually produce sound instead of a whisper. I keep you so close to my heart that every time it beats it touches y