wildflower honey.

vanilla scented poetry

romanticism of monsters

careworn and smiling with a crooked grin, adoration slept in the wrinkles beside his eyes as he observed the mosaic beauty. she held his callused palm in hers and whispered to the moon; "tonight, we're monsters." romanticism isn't always beautiful.

SOPHISM OF THE SUN

with you: words are not routines anymore / with you: is where home is / home is where the heart is / a pair of eyes and a turbulent pulse

expansion | on hold

when there's too much, and you're going to explode. he can get in your mind and turn you insane. he steals lives, and has fun doing it. but his mind isn't immune to his own tricks, and he's just as weak as anyone else.

A TONE OF VOICE

there's bravery in being soft

FEBRUARY CHILDREN

my poetry smells like mint and lemon and tells all the white boys to fuck off ©KELLY2017

death looks good on you

johnny is the exception (to the numbness). © JUGULARS 2019

MON CHÉRI

stitching storms into lovers' thighs (poetry #1 / prose #1 - 061120) © VANGOHS, 2017

please don't die

after dark beautiful things grow and fester, kissing your mouth, eviscerating your insides.