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?
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