currency

I wonder how much it costs to live in these beautiful parts
maybe too much. maybe not enough

---

when I was younger I used to think it was a celebrity's job to be loved

---

if you think about 
it, a bridge is actually a 
perfect place to die

---

I don't want to want to be cool when I'm thirty-five

---

I've got a lot going for me. maybe too much

taller than angels

---

with the weight of sticks and stones 
you learned to walk with crooked bones 
but when your soul has finally healed 
recovered from its injuries (surviving all your surgeries) 
than angels, taller, you will be

春

---

冬の朝明確になる
君の夢想

なつかしいの風が泣けいる
君の笑顔

森の香りが君の名前に
埋め込まれた

君の声で秋の残像いる
エレクトリック

---

across your cheek, a
fair wind blows, your eyes steal light
from winter's glow

descends on us the
pure white mist, a song of spring
upon your lips

ahead a frosty
evening looms, a single flower
decides to bloom

a frozen world, the
tranquil maiden, constant in
her captivation

麗しい顔の君さん

i may have secretly admired
the swell of your lips
and your candle-white fingers
as they probed the page
and greeted your nose
with each salutary sniff

Fukaya, Kagohara,
Kumagaya, Gyoda
the towns sped past
and i may have loved your
silhouette, as the night lights
flickered to life
in your face

noone ever pities me (the way I want them to)

you're in milwaukee off your feet

"praying for you"

---

I found her outside, sat on the sidewalk and staring at the sky like it had just disowned her. I sat down next to her. 
"Hey, you're missing the party."
She squeezed out this tired little smile.
"That's okay," she said. "Party's not missing me"

---

I think they do not know it is love

Marilyn / stardust

sometimes she thought of life as one big entertainment show - ten percent scripted, ninety percent spontaneous and ultimately meaningless

---

She lived in tv-land, far removed from reality. The people needed her so much in their lives that one day she simply stopped living hers

---

The distant lights in perfect disarray resembled constellations, scattered across the interminable cityscape. She stood at her window, mesmerised by its unorchestrated beauty. Maybe the stars were just reflections of the city, she thought. Maybe they were windows belonging to tiny apartments in heaven, every bit as miserable as ours. Perhaps their inhabitants stared wistfully at us each night, our tired souls destined to spend forever wishing upon each others' lonely lights.

She noticed her eyes staring back through the glass and began to study herself as the night saw her. She surveyed her breasts, her hips, her lips - beautiful still - unblemished by the night, but somehow missing some essential quality - lacking some vital dimension, like solidity or density or depth all rolled up into one - she could not quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was whatever immense weight had been slowly growing in her bones for the past six months. Yes, perhaps that was it. She stared at herself as an immaterial apparition, a frail, almost gaseous creature, diaphanous charms already in the process of disappearing. The sight horrified her but at the same time fascinated and excited something deep within her, such that she could not bring herself to look away. Instead, her eyes ventured further to find a world where her penthouse apartment, her penthouse life and all of its trappings were nothing but a mirage - a simple trick of the light. Perhaps that was the real world, she thought. Perhaps that was her real life.