Category: poetry + prose
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i still make wishes on everything
I say too little, too much or nothing at all,simply because I feel and overthinktoo deeply, for better or worse.
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i wish i could wind us like a clock
numb; living in standby.When you’re paralyzed but know you still exist through tingling bones, sparks down your spine, the grinding of a fork down your throat and a shaken, not stirred, heart.
rhythmic reverie 