I'm Jordan. I love reading and singing and I like to use sarcasm frequently.
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All I really want is for someone to touch my mouth and mean it. I dance in dangerous fables, walk a woods with trees white as bone. It’s always winter and I’m always pressing my face against something warm with blood. I know how men love to give answers, tell stories. In this one, the girl dies in reverse – laughs then births an arrow from her chest. Later, I find my body bathed in glass; grey light swims lazy across my skin, a kind of honey. The clouds surrender then weep. In this endless soft of snow, I lack the patience to haunt. Instead, I hunt, every footstep a grief. I touch my hands to my lips. I leave nothing in my wake. I never ask the same question twice.
