begging my brain to let you go and latch on to someone or something else, really this is ridiculous, clogging my own drains. Sick sticking memory of you and your old growth smell and your dance around yourself, this memory i color myself with, that i drape all over. in the dirty remains a single close-up of face and hands and their route, and i wonder if in a future-something i’ll still have that memory, buried in my unnamed insides to unearth whenever hormones and weather and a single fingernail of overhanging moon bring my selves just aligned.
Tags: dreams
how can i star in your show?
First I must review your act.