The Creeping Vine

The good ache of crawling inside.

Holding you up. 

Tearing you down.

The distinction withers.

Because all of this is you now. 

This is growth.

And growth is beautiful.

Miss Midnight

Smile, lips, teeth, mind. 

The vision behind your eyes. 

In the black and white of no light. 

Miss Midnight, who are you? 

Strange, that. Falling in love with a stranger in dreams.

Feels more familiar than waking.

Whose dream will we meet in tonight?