Poet/Predator

Q:I am living off borrowed words and rewinded memories. The days crackle and break, like moth eaten pages crumbling in my hand. I am spilling out my love in ink to boys who don't understand or who don't exist. If there was a bridge to Neverland, I would cross it. But instead I am existing off secondhand hope that I find littered in alleyways, growing like weeds in between daisies or buried in the lost and found. The days grow longer. The stars keep shining brighter.