dear prose.

your feelings and hopes

hidden dreams and empty empty cigarette packs.

your broken words

can move me more than anything tangible nowadays.

i wish i could express it better

too much to ever do justice with words;

yet too little to ever be satisfied with.

so i guess i’ll fight the insomnia once more

with a hungry conscience, and lustful hope.

i used to spend my life waiting for the dusk to kill the day.

but now i’m tired.

i finally realized:

why do i keep running when i can’t remember what i’m running from anymore?

so i stopped here, and i don’t ever want to leave.

for the first time

i didn’t get fucked by ’ol lady luck

:]

—’till sunrise world.