Sometimes I wake up from being awake.  I’m walking around, and suddenly I wonder how I got to where I am.  As if I were dreaming through my own life, I saw everything I did. But I was passive, asleep. Like driftwood, submerged, bobbing in the ocean. For brief moments…

the same the same the same the same i’m not excited about anything changing even a little bit i call this boring heaven

I am reluctant to burn the past the past is burnt for me I am unwilling to say goodbye I am the object of goodbye I don’t intend on letting go the things that hold me grow weary    

I listen to bachata music and I imagine you marrying someone else. Somehow I’m still happy thinking about you.

a date of mine was beaten by her mother and another by her boyfriend another said she’d fuck me when she stopped bleeding–I’ll never see her again one jealous, one cold now, one who liked coffee but not me and neither did I and my friend got sick and nearly…

I’m one or seven billion people and many more “animals.” (We’re all the same) Im going fast in a taxi home There are others like me I’ll never meet There are others There aren’t others

Tokyo was surreal now it’s normal in Seoul. I’m happy. Things are boring. How did it get to this? I so rarely ask that and smile

I keep visiting the same restaurant, and the losses mount. I came here with two friends in love, who are now exes. I came here with a lover of my own, and now it’s over. My grandmother, passed, and a couple failed dates. Still I sometimes imagine we are all…

I hear a train in the night and it carries in its sound the boy I was many years ago and the sound slowly fades just like that boy still listening to Elvis on the radio

I remember when we walked on the waterfront in Hong Kong and she cried and cried and cried I was relieved that she, finally, was sad too