Those aren't diamonds

Glow

Tonight, the streets are black and shiny.
As black and shiny as my soul.

now

After Grief

This year, the dead father chose.

October, October

1. An owl's voice booming through the night; not a question, but an imperative: Who. Goddammit, who.

"If the children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger...

...but our hearts get torn up."