twigs dangling from their medium. bodies tearing, aortas stretching. smoke doin' the tango with the esophagus. salination forming in the crusts of receptors.
i have no concept of time other than it soars. i am a bald eagle, soarin' high till i am shot down, left on the ground.
love don't live here. embrace me till the sun rises. i wanna stay down 'cuz it feels alright.
i am at the bottom. and I kinda like it struggle for me.
wheels are independent of themselves they roll as if they were children at a playground the concept of regret doesn't trigger visceral pain and doesn't eat them from the inside and out and their pale expression as they touch the concrete resonates so softly with their exterior, and they give no *****. and i wish i were a wheel i get no breaks with physicality but at least i know i won't wake up sobbing in the middle of the night wheels are my esoteric dream and that's okay with me
i've manufactured a new identity. i tried to love myself this one time, and the ghost of my new self possessed me with all of those insults. i'm a new person now. and all i ever asked for was to be happy.