oh go

fuck yourselves.



when i wake to the grey and it's slow and gentle and calling me out. i hate how my mind works. in memory so vibrant, loud. selective. that night we danced till i thought i'd die laughing. that afternoon that split me open and made me sure heaven is not here at all. i know the feeling now. the truth. like all those little boys long since grown and given up. who've left superheroes behind. we were meant for flight. i look to the grey sky. it cannot be denied. i know i should be able to go up up up, swoop low, glide in grace for fun for joy for love for celebration.

to think you know something, and then become absolutely unsure.
it's so stupid.
it's so typical.
no grass is green at all.