we’re not in this together
From what we’ve gathered
it’s me
that I touch
in a stone
Birth is the shape of worry
The body knows
of itself
being small
God was in a star telling a little angel to die on a spider and you were losing your child to the teachings of an incurably resurrected contortionist
Fire is the town of fire fire dreams to mourn
Cricket, brain, magic
The light
up to
the light
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