perspective. it builds. in feeble increments.
the crushed template from which we derive our portraits.
perspective. it swells. like wooden bridges over shallow waters.
her hunger, like an open dress. her desire taut elastic.her loyalty all dead poets and arsenic. moments skipping rope. and tragedies feasting with their mouths open.
all those small monsters looking large. as they lean in closer.
perspective. it whispers of reason. while it screamss madness.
all its angles much too sharp.