first world memoir
anecdote to the very
stillness my tunnel veins
collided with. surpassed
by the littles' of her eyes
lay straight and die with
tired darks. stained with
ancient trees and modest
stone we bridged the gapping
war amongst the breeders
and destroyers ; a dream
commit suicide in our laps.
and still, through and through
we compelled the linear and begged
for a subject to be broken into,
divided against, to the very
stillness my tunnel veins
collided with.
freedom repetition.
