A book of poetry, amongst other things. "of these things I am grateful: these hands of mine, that fold into stars at night to take and burn and illuminate these books that turn into secrets at four a.m., and when I press my fingers close I can feel my steady beat- I know hands are made for making too. the ghosts in the back of my closet, whose weeping faces I have kissed again, and again, but despair leans on these walls and I know there is comfort in hiding and there is weight in my feet, my thoughts, my words: I am better for it."

Let me be vital. / I want to burn myself out. #39 Poetry - 11/6/16.

gus; [noun] 1. the only boy who likes the stars © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 2014. N. A.