between each breath, these
words hang
floating
like balloons in front of their eternal
background. rising up and up
until the pressure is too great. until
the break in your words is too great
and no phrase can pull them together. that
place by the tip of the troposphere, or
whenever you pause and lose track.
sometimes i regret talking too much, and
other times i wish i let go of the string.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
between each breath, these
words hang
floating
like balloons in front of their eternal
background. rising up and up
until the pressure is too great. until
the break in your words is too great
and no phrase can pull them together. that
place by the tip of the troposphere, or
whenever you pause and lose track.
sometimes i regret talking too much, and
other times i wish i let go of the string.
shmomo domo promo combo(ver)
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