So Shakespeare and Chaucer walk into a bar, and Shakespeare’s like “No, really, I want to know what the big difference is.” And Chaucer’s just like “Oh yogh.”
So I started thinking about the nature of time and temporal reality - and whether or not time is just a function of light, or if it exists in some objective space -
and then I was like “I just Kant, right now.”
are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body.
You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she
will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes
that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back
to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name.
I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me
You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you.
You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own.
But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless.
and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone
and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home."
This is so good.