collecting dolls

7.7.2025

stealing pretty words and twisting their arms into pretty sentences makes me feel like my first

boyfriend

(if there was an -ism to describe an addiction to words id use it here, he lived and died for

the beautiful sentences he could make or at least the high-resolution photographs

he took of them before the frightened figures of speech ran as far and fast as they could

he poked the first hole in the balloon that surrounds me he filled the space where the air escaped

with a carbon dioxide fear that i might start abusing words one day too, before i even know its

happening. i remember how all he ever wanted to be was lana del rey)

but more importantly, it makes my life prettier. i think its one of those positive feedback loops or

placebo effects…one thing affects another and using shimmering sentences to cope even if they

are a blatant parody of the truth turns out to be more contagious than first glance portrayed and

all of a sudden yes, my life is shinier.

the words arrive in my inbox and the sentences of shimmer and nostalgia and glowing

skin and genuine smiles no matter how elastic their truths are when ink first touches paper the

edges collapse like new rubber around the corners of my viewport and tint my peripheral with

vivid, unarguable rose. both sides of the palisades turn toward the rain.