| something_real | ||
| pushpins |
motion rolls from a forlorn slash of a mouth, beautiful untouchable tones vary under the lull of breath. I am a captive audience through the buzzing of a technology I can't touch, I feel as though I am kneeling before something real. Simply- some things just blow me away and while I scamper the aisle of cool concrete like a dead and jagged leaf trying to kiss the ground before she is carried to the sky by the frighteningly overwhelming forces of wind, somehow the air finds its way to my lungs though your fingers squeeze externally my heart. And if your hand is warped to gnarl its way around my jailbird heart, how can I still yet be wrapped around your finger? |
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