the power spent. in brief encounters and lingering pin pricks. shadows evinced. void of medicine.
the slope incredulous. a spectacle of touch. louder than it is confident.
blunt pencils shake their fists at the colors. the theater of freedom. like caterpillars and arachnids. the cold equations of loss. the manic dividends of want.
gravity is weightless. we are not.
the path chokes on perspective. a heavy bucket. full of holes. a certainty desperate for doubt.
the flood. moments drowning in hope. until we are broken again. the desert. a welcome wasteland.
the strum of the journey. as it picks at old scabs. complicating the simple wounds. we always forget the colors. but the angles are too deeply embedded.
the fork divides the road. the choice divides the man.
like glass, we shatter.
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