October 02, 2013

Repetitive Birth

Fresh soil beneath dry fingernails, a thoughtful gift.
The bright hollow inside a lightbulb, the slick inside of lungs.

All we need is to not become what scares us.

Inexperienced mothers refusing to explode the young from the eggs.
A cockroach pondering anything at all.

The train we're on is begging us to get off before it reaches its destination.
An apple will start rotting when it stops caring what happens to it.

Celebrities are writing heartfelt letters to all their fans, taking great care to personalize the sentiments, but all the postal workers in this crippled galaxy are perpetually, unapologetically, blackout drunk.

Get well, get well.

All we need is to not become what scares us.

Dreams of serene lunacy dream of stabbing themselves in the dark.
Shooting stars propelled toward anything that won't complain upon impact.

The Church Of The Time You Noticed You Were Different.
The Cult Of The Time You Cried When Your Best Friend Moved Away.

Cotton candy crushed into a slightly sticky cube, stuffed into an abscessed wisdom tooth.
Connotations will warp over time but no one will notice until the mind starts replaying sacred moments in slow motion.

All we need is to not become each other.

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