(i wrote a few poems while reading House of Leaves the first time so going through old poetry, always a terrible ego puncture)


See yourself sway soft
in a puddle,
break like them.

Look up to the gray and you are
Most alive
in sadness,
hoarding anger and
interminable waiting.
A door in the air cracks.
You take a step back
a few years.

And it will be someone you never expected.


–The entrance

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