Gothic
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If I ever disappear, don’t look for me in cities. You’ll find me where ivy swallows forgotten homes and mushrooms climb rotten steps. I’ll be sitting barefootbeside a candle. Bong resting in the grass. Hair smelling like smokeand cedar. Learning the names of every crow. Speaking to plants like old friends. Brewing tea from things…
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The candle was small. The night wasn’t. The moon watched through broken branches while I sat outside an abandoned house that looked like it had been slowly adopted by the forest. I sparked the bowl. The ember glowed orange. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was smoking cannabis or breathing in the last…
Between Bruises and Blooms 