Tag Archives: Adam Phillips

12/10/07 – 01/20/10

upon your birth I wrote a song about blood, letting of, tasting of, and a man writing in cursive in blood flung from his fingernails planting the remnants of torn hearts in black loam to grow a forest where we’ll … Continue reading

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the destroyer

We made a date for you to help me die. It happens all the time. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. We were looking in the fridge. That’s called cheese and you will help me die, I said. Not for … Continue reading

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