Not a bigger problem than this trembling god, but snow is the afterlife of color. Is your time gonna be here when you’re gone? I want the whales back but don’t want to include a single whale. Take me to your follower. I pitch sadness to sorrow but never hear. I cut myself in the dark to see if the creation of the weapon I didn’t vote for still makes other children smell like smoke. Don’t love them too much or you’ll pray them to life. Sleep comes to me twice during the same haircut because my barber doesn’t drink but she does say under her sister’s breath the distracted angel of our father’s search history sucks on the rib of a suicidal cartoonist. Here is how I know I cannot write: It’s not me sobbing but it’s also not me playing the piano. I unsee a cricket turn to salt but fail to quiet the echo that eats it. I’ll never forget having a mother.
kingsoftrain 
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