run for your life.

run for your damned life. the future is here. it is.


I batted so badly on drunk dials tonight. Only the reliable ones answered. You have my everlasting gratitude.


want something poetic? Here. This is what I've got. This is what they've done to me.
---
[don't read too much into this.]


He wasn't a bad kisser. Not bad in the sense that you wouldn't want to kiss him again. She was startled, though, by the voracious desperation that he displayed any time his lips met hers.

Like he needed to kiss her to save his life. The kind of frantic, passionate desperation someone exhibits when they jam an epi-pen into their own thigh. The clenched, tooth-grinding desperation heard rattling like pills when someone's heart stops beating and the medicine lid is child-proof.

His obsession and her sadness were like poison.

He kisses her like her tongue had the antidote.


Like her breath would make him live forever, if he took in enough of it.










One kiss and he's building castles in her name.




---
five syllables in
and we're still so hopelessly
inevitable.


---

there's another line on the end but it's zero syllables. Sometimes it goes without saying.


----

here's good advice. Pick something and do it. While you're trying to figure out what to do, the world's not waiting up for you.