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A restless breath
Asthmatic transmission
I’ve resurrected my demons
Display, parade, spectacle
Alliances are forming
I’m forcing these words
Finger in throat
Erupt and unnerve
Deserved preferred pathways
And driveways to stumble around
No commas found, only
Broken sentences
In disheveled paragraphs
I laughed with you
I lied.
Fingers crossed, holding my breath
A child in a burning nest
I am not above,
                  or below
I rest my head on sticks and stones
I’ve made no peace with this arrangement
Noose bound tight
Blade sharpened stroking the skin
It runs in circles
It tells tall tales
It shows the truth
My voice wouldn’t confess
These mirrors haunt my shaded arrival
The witness screams
In fragments scattering the bathroom floor
Reflection is no place to hide.
I see those dark eclipses, brown and excessive
Slicing each piece thinner and thinner
What is left; a broken mess
If I could breathe, I’d clean that too.
Along with the dust that's collecting
On your fingertips.
no demonstrations have been given, and we are falling through the flat lines. A comfort drive through overcast alleyways. complaints of brightened days and open shades. this pipe dream has carried us this far, and i am running faster than our imaginations. this has always been a set-up. a display. i bite my tongue for fear of flying. we hold hands because we're cold. these sentences don't form paragraphs. empty shells encased in gold. desperate vengeance against our bitter halves, assumptions of a frame of mind. Bodies trembling; lack of stimulation erasing those traces we left on that cold night....these cold nights now only taste bitter. From a solid to a liquid we've quickened our reaction time, with time to spare we are trading in spare parts, combined, we've aligned our shipwrecks. We face the south - we are the pessimistic creatures. We are the absent souls. traced bone structures and phantom feelings; genetic make up of uncompleted human beings. Puzzle pieces shaved with razor blades...we make them fit. we take what we want. inhaling expired fumes//exhaling narcissistic volumes. rise! we are everything in this world! we are a mess! Brakes don't exist, and the camera filter is permanently black and white. Jeans too tight, dreams too small. staring at the sunrise through lace and hearing the waves through a myriad of whispers. i am not accountable for my actions. i believe in nothing more and nothing less than gravity. scar tissue ties our binds, ribs entwined, born to die.

— The End —