It is true though, you have all my money
full of spiders. you said you were falling for me and you never told me. where the trouble slows, every kid needs to know what beautiful is and silent, that I didn’t have to perform and wonder the whole thing, soft spots, impersonated dance, the chorus on a balcony of a paris baguette. you admit you love me, juvenile maybe and still very honey. areoles and volcanoes the misread I have for my throat.
my dream was equally disturbing and about offices
trees pods and people with walking sticks and graves and pepper the mountains. I have a hill that is
blackglassmoon 