the sheets smell clean, like lilacs and lavender, but i would give anything, for them to smell like you again

the milk has gone bad, yellowish fluid, curdled remnants floating in the tainted liquid of yesterday’s fond regrets

took the remaining paints and poured them all together, it looked like a wet dream in circular pollack mania

the roof is sagging, rain drops down upon my head, or is it tears falling? who can say for sure when the room is dark

the sheets smell clean, piled in a ball on the floor, the bare matress sings of conquests, insomnia, a myriad of dreams