Low

If I told you I was fine.  The line managed to obtain the slient spine would scream.  Sulking. a serenade of the worst possible posture one could think, I’d be… discovered. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing considering the support needed would be much appreciated to an unfittting body, I’d be stooping in. A bit shorter than most, on days… just days.  Listening to the silence that slices meat lying between the crevices he cannot see without the aid of short cut fabric and lips like magic …

If I told you I’m alright. Prancing between the curtains, you’d see me low like no other. Piercing the thighs she screams, “what if I’d had none to give”. So now I’m giving them for the simple fact that others have none to relinquish. Gifts I call them.

And here the air exalting out of ribcages who claim an empty space, lie next to each other. Hand in hand, We’re an indecisive bunch of oddballs and limbo like no other, when will the next time be for us to go under…

If I told you I miss you, the  thin line remaining would shread to pieces before my alright turns into tears that never ran down, cheeks to be considered, a stream of consciousness from imported memories…only pondering fables she seeked in eyes, blowing through hypothetical tissue paper, disappointments ball themselves. As if bowing to the unbothered keeper of wellness in snot. I sniff in agreeance to apologies that tend to go unheard.

  STILL having yet to tell you how sorry I was for not living in bullshit…

Though I’m good. No the phrase doesn’t sound as convincing.  whose to say its been uttered from my lips , looking back on the thick skin and straight posture that holds up a body just long enough to fit the lines in my eyes. that draw  drowsy shrugs, imitating how many fucks are left to give….

trying to not be filled with happiness

when they decipher I’m healthy enough to lead my life the exact opposite

of low…

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