in your head, as you turn down the violet sheets in your bed to climb inside. Leave the canvas white. Don’t fill it up with mountains and sky. How can you
hear a thing she says with a boombox pounding between your ears? How can you see the tears she's shed with striped shades pulled over your eyes? How can she add her piece
when the pages are cluttered with your beliefs, sneaking in the dark as covered black thieves. Stealing all the apples from the trees you planted outside.