mad·​i·​son

This was written exactly a year ago.

I have no idea what it’s about.

Enjoy my art

while I step back behind the twigs

Where I don’t feel anything good

Close your mouth and breathe more

Inhaling strands of brown and tan and white

Marking up your insides with uncertainty

To be high over and over again

Is every minute lost or prolonged

Are we tricking time or wasting it

Did I grow bangs to recede?

Am I walking a full loop around school

Because I turned in the wrong direction

And couldn’t bear to turn around?