moths cling like church congregations, praying for light. praying for what? all you want is melodies, simple chords. all we want is light. bells like night skies, like swimming pools at night, light shining from some unknown source underneath. beauty is when you can't decide if it's horrifying or pretty, when you just can't take your eyes off it. beauty is somewhere in between the two.
i forgot the things i said, the things i felt on the tiles in the bathroom walls.  i throw words around like the rice at weddings.  the ideas come too quickly, i can't catch them, no time to put them in the parts of my brain they belong. they run across and right off the page, like big white horses, leaving me in a cloud of smoke.     i can hear you smile.