there was never enough paper
never enough books
the pens contained me
the key clicks asked to trace back too much
the paint had its own stories too
the dance was too visceral
the film was incoherent
and so i lived and died into them all
the masterful rebellion
and then your skin, when it was my paper
my canvas, my strings, my music
every flinch and gasp and breath was like art complete
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC
there was never enough paper
never enough books
the pens contained me
the key clicks asked to trace back too much
the paint had its own stories too
the dance was too visceral
the film was incoherent
and so i lived and died into them all
the masterful rebellion
and then your skin, when it was my paper
my canvas, my strings, my music
every flinch and gasp and breath was like art complete
dead love feels like dead skin,
it kind of feels nice to peel off
especially into poetry