I make art for a living. Dreamy sad moody nostalgic stuff for dreamy people with bad intentions.
I want to feel my heart drop through my stomach. I want to feel something good or bad and I want something to write about. Let me turn you into literature and bad paintings. Let’s take Polaroids and hide them in library books.
Collector of old books and Polaroid photos. Constant reader and dreamer. Following foxes down rabbit holes and making all the worst mistakes.
I want to believe in ghosts but I’ve never seen proof of one. Someone said your hearts as big as your fist.
It’s okay if you’re dead inside.
Let’s be zombies. All braindead and ruled by instinct.
I want to feel something. Tell me the sky is falling. Tell me the world is ending. Tell me something you can say today and never again.
Come in from the rain and trade your wet socks for something new.
I’ll read you old poems and tell you all about that time, The one you dream about
our dreams play games in convincing ways. Sometimes I dream that I’m trapped in a
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