foer, it's impossible to read your writing. i need to sew it within myself

i'm no longer waiting for gifts wrapped up in cursors & imaginary mail boxes

toes grip into the short hair of a tired carpet

and i'm too exhausted to question whether or not this is worth it.

scream into the millions of ears that never wanted to hear a thing

and whisper the only thing you need to say.

i promise it won't be heard

and no one will be able to destroy

the excitement of pressing yourself

into an ink well of film.

waiting on the outsides of the current

pulling myself forward

like skate night survival at the rink

you move quicker

when questions are dropped

cerulean sea swallow me whole