the hardest part was starving it every ideal like springtide flowerets you turned to archaic grisly gravel watch them crash through weathered rooftops watch them fall
drawing maps with hungry voices winding staircase. hidden street. drained from stepping on recurrent cryptic papers scattered floorboards no matter how many times they're cleaned, there they are
bright coral turns vile muddy brown when it stays in the sun too long alone, everybody knows that that's what they thought beneath a brittle beacon, cloudy day they'll keep pretending, it'll be okay