Sonya Bui



clogged in my sleep-deprived brain are crumpled scraps of paper i’ve been meaning to unscramble.   scrap one. “let’s go outside.” something-something about blackened grid-like sidewalks and noiseless streets roaming freely out of sheer post-midnight curiosity then melting into firm grounded steps steered by puddles and mushy dewy grass. scrap two. “talk to me.” something-something…


Conversations with Myself

55 Days and Counting

[1] a couple minutes to 5 a.m. you find yourself staring blankly at your laptop screen. 55 days and counting. you can count the number of times you’ve called home singlehandedly. you haven’t spent enough time with snippets and trickles of thoughts in your head. you hang out with them wrapped around your neck, hovering…

bad art

dark violet

sweetening memories

“hey, we’re living in a fucking incubator,” i say, deliriously battered by the summer haze; “but what does it matter?” picture us: top-floor apartment curtains closed shut tricking ourselves we have made the weather                                our subordinate. we                                       master manipulators twist and turn our glasses                          of artificial wildberries                          fermented                          then imported, our tongues                           an acquired…