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i. i watch people die. the romance moves slowly on camera film; a lover crashing through pvc to kiss pavement, windows behind relay a tragedy captured with ***** lights. ii. i transcribe scripts to my bathroom mirror. i see no Winslet. green in my eyes mark an imperfect creature, no feeder's hand to bite. i speak to my reflection in self indulgence. iii. i don't have a role to play. who i am is minors and leads of movies shaped by the past, but gas on the celluloid makes the memory blur. feelings died with the character dead in the past. iv. i just watch people die. casablanca; temporary love rejected when the bone and the heart shatters. v. i don't know who i'll become. i don't know if i'll become.
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Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 2:56 AM UTC
Helen Palmer