Unroll the gilded logic of tomorrow and make way for backseat melodies and cement scraped knees unwashed hands and ***** faces I want to find the ecosystem where I fit I want to stay away from ledges and train tracks and peaks the ambient echo of stillness when will I meet what will **** me and how will I know what to call it
I like the butterfly effect for its delicate tragedy I like the end times served on silver wings out west I saw homes hollowed out of trees and I wanted to live there and think about idealization how I long for times when I was at my lowest I wonder about my coming of age what it would look like to a stranger to grow up in a shell, and wait for all the bubbles to pop, for the air to escape
out west I lingered I explored unreachable tangents and ate my fill of fruit to forget about the hunger that has followed me from the beginning – from some primordial depth that springs up within me I only like the summertime and the cloyingly sweet reminders of rebirth
why do we call it abrasion and not erosion the way skin burns away I used to think that if I peeled enough layers I’d find the answer somewhere between muscle and bone but the longer I live the less I know and even that is a simplification my own private eternity feels too short I know there has to be some way to make sense of what I’ve been given but I only know the language of my own body and beyond that, I am blind.