gentle, now

I have slowly and sadly fallen in love

with this mystery, this hollow self

gently punctured and bled out, gaping.

tuck your fingers into my painted palms, I know

I burn too hot/sandy, but I would clasp you

in this fiery ring. this is our disaster.

I have destroyed you, beautifully.

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return to me

they were grinning like the rain, each footfall

hits in the crowd with a subtle two-step beat

a bit of a drag on the right, but the white noise hides it.

Everything a perfectly panned shot, narrated

quietly to myself.

In a jacket, which I have been told

is very Wes Anderson. I have just enough yellow to be indie.

Every day is a planned script.

Every day is a short film I will never shoot

for anyone but myself and God