Ending summers with propositions

I guess I’m still searching for moments of poetic grandeur,
so I sneak out when everyone is asleep
and walk to the worst beach in southern Ontario.

Wading into the dirty bruised night,
I wished my best friend was here
or at least someone to fuck around with.

The water crushes my lungs into a soggy paper bag
and I curse my prolific cowardice for being too chicken-shit
to answer his open-ended question with my clause. 

Weakend warrior

On the drive home,
I do 130 on the QEW
and think about green eyes.

My stomach is dry ice,
I think about how
I should have let you fuck me. 

Dates are fuckin weird

I have no idea what I’m doing

Oakville

mightycontender:

This is me trying not to get too excited.
In the pink of summer
I forget the meaning of organic.

I temper the true distance of 37 minutes
with expectations expecting to be inflected:
can someone be too nice?

And the gorgeous thunder-shock that splits the room
and screams out four years of muted ache;
I deserve this. 

Oakville

This is me trying not to get too excited.
In the pink of summer
I forget the meaning of organic.

I temper the true distance of 37 minutes
with expectations expecting to be inflected:
can someone be too nice?

And the gorgeous thunder-shock that splits the room
and screams out four years of muted ache;
I deserve this. 

This is me trying not to get too excited 

(Source: sweetjanesays, via littlecatlady)

it’s whatever

Dream d00d 🌵

Dream d00d 🌵

(Source: hutchersoms)