The higher I get,
the closer I feel to you. Knowing the condensed molecules supreme, know the condensed time we'll see. As if they stay afloat, to remind us that something still can. As if she never sank, as if you never ran. You're almost a figment of my imagination. So I fill that void with heartless junkies. They run, run, run, it's normal to be left on empty. A promising pillow to fall onto, so airy and untrue. Still, when I'm up here looking down, with all the clouds, I think of you.
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Sydne Kilberg"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something." Archives
February 2016
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