PJ Ryan

it makes itself smell repellent

This is no fairy tale.

I can’t clean up after myself

pens for paddles

her mascara streams down her face, like leaking octopus ink and I wonder what it tastes like

I saw her in the sky; shaped like a cloud, she was laying on her back, without underpants, her legs spread wide open.

the craft of containment versus freedom

Dinosaur, I still miss you.

pretending to be a dark shadow

star

the embers are raining down through my spine

Puuskatte.

I’ve been picking at my hemline.

She understands what the ink across his knuckles means.

the stain of you

silly little box

a bitter taste that has crawled out of the garden and into her mouth

I wonder when she will spill her insides out into the surrounds of a peaceful place, just like Krakatoa.

I wanted to knock on the wooden box and make certain he was safely gone.

I think about you when the sun is falling into tomorrows horizon and the moon is inspiring me to be honest