topheavy

Bits.
Why can you
not tell me I am beautiful?
All this about open spaces
and the trees
Why can you not
give it the best you have?
Only voice a tiny puff, no
a disintegrating spoke
breezing behind a white curtain.
Why can you not
sit on it?
It must be the last
of the deep blues
before I’m moving out.
But I’ll be back.
you know, I’ll be back and you’ll be so proud
I own you, no?
We’re just two
and I’m inside you.

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