mother:the space heater is wobbling around because you knocked it over so much.
me:i think it sounds reassuring, like a friendly earthquake.
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when you were young you were the king of carrot flowers and how you built a tower tumbling through the trees in holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet and your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder and your dad would throw the garbage all across the floor as we would lay and learn what each others bodies were for and this is the room one afternoon i knew i could love you and from above you how i sank into your soul into that secret place where no one dares to go and your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking and dad would dream about the different ways to die each one a little more than he could dare to try
currently tabbing: “united states v. jones” on oyez, a critical analysis of “memento mori” in western culture, “realistic diction is unrealistic,” an article on why tv tropes will ruin your life, my anthropology professor’s doctoral thesis, a list of latin proverbs and their translations, and two academic papers on semiotics.
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carnal knowledge
craving raw angry sex right now that leaves me feeling shameful and wanting more later, why do these impulses occur at the most inopportune of times
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