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Jul 12
Sullied, broken shoes coagulate down-below the creek, endlessly floating to the bottom
running away with bare feet
You are just like they told me you'd be: nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all

I wish I could fall back into a blend of a plethora of cottons whisked with the textures of you and are all delicately folded within these seams of stretched and wrinkled fabrics, tempered and brushed
I'm just like they warned me I'd be: tempted, tempted, tempted, tempted again

A warmth escapes your nose, your eyes drop below the balloon, but have you stopped to see what's rising before and from me?

Beforth you, remember, the decision we made in the drastic evening many moons ago where we saw butterflies free themselves from chrysalides

Progression towards your death for I will be the eclipse, the catalyst—then you will apply towards me and separate towards me, for we all do, we all apply and separate and tighten and loosen and wax and wane and attract and unattract and maximize and minimize and captive and repel—
to know those things makes me feel better
Reverberating between the sink, I bounce off porcelain brisk neatness, twined leggings, and floating fortunes
Fortunate you're so unfortunate to be blessed with the only way
of knowing me: through the soul—each year you'll find me,
each life you'll know me; as long as you have feelings to hurt
I'll have a way to get to you
This means nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all

Without being too direct, too blunt, too unpoetic,
don't listen to my feverish talk
I am in a state of ill-will, in a state of benign-despondency,
I am catatonic, I am feeling threatened
It is buried in the past, though my intuition is in flames
Let me give this a try: I'll give you my letters written in my tears,
I package the letter in tears, I deliver the tear-veloped letter in tears; when I fall, right now, through this loop, through the bed for
the bed is my loop, for the loop is my bed, and I want to feel better:
falling through repeatedly: portal above me, portal below me
The same fallen places, the same sunken categories
You'd love this constancy, wouldn't you?

Drop into an abyss of rising sunshine and jaundiced moonshine,
for I am never going to see you again—I will, we all will
The sun sees you every day, the moon watches you every night,
and I have thought of you for years, never understanding why (nor who you were),
but now I firmly understand why
If I cease my ignorance of the future, will the future still happen?

Wilting towards willowing followers, budding flowers in exchange for a faulty handshake: the most cheekiest of ******* you see down the street, freely (arm-in-arm) flying from under your frown; they fraulick under trees for what seems to be forever through meadows, meandering with the smoke and lingering as a Jordanian river-like stench near a swamp,

for you are just like they warned me you'd be: fleeting, flying, flipping, frenzying away
acacia
Written by
acacia  F/orbis
(F/orbis)   
173
 
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