this presence feels new an essence of freshness like a child’s hand, innocence expressed in the absence of scars and wrinkles like a pointed pause in conversation a breath, a silence awaiting an answer.
as the auctioneer calls out the final bid i can’t help but think it’s something i did sinking in mud with you still wet on my lips trying my hardest to not steer into the skid
she’s the thorn in the side of my heart if i had it to do again i would've skipped this part it feels like i woke up on an airplane with a loaded gun i’m trying to move on but i keep my shoes on so i’m always ready to run it’s not the same it’ll never be the same i hope i find another flower just as pretty as its name
i’m still the same words in a new font same old punchline but more nuanced the same marathon you’ve been running under all the layers, an onions still an onion
the days keep getting longer i’m in bed before the sun i tried to escape my hunger but there’s nowhere left to run if i could be the hunter i think that might be fun swinging at the thunder but i’m a bullet without a gun