(Untitled)

[portwiine]

'All my dead friends owe me.
Like a flock of small birds.'

We are the trees and we are pointed toward some sun.
branches reaching and growing
the things I want
are forward reaching...
We've now split countless times
from solid ground.

We are alone with the sun in our bones that are snapping in the wind.

Comments

[givemethe_pen]

:)