I’m sitting right now. In a room.
30ft above the ground.
Next to a big clear window with a crystal clear blue sky hanging. My thoughts are not here.
Not in a class.
Not in the motivating video the teacher plays and rewinds.
Not in the group discussion.
Not in those questions.
30ft above the ground.
Next to a big clear window with a crystal clear blue sky hanging. My thoughts are not here.
Not in a class.
Not in the motivating video the teacher plays and rewinds.
Not in the group discussion.
Not in those questions.
The thoughts are floating, roaming.
Like the feelings that are up up away. Free, mi cielo.
Like my rebellions you hate, like my intangible touch you avoid.
Play it safe, play it double safe.
Or keep it brave.
Keep it brave and close til it scratches the upper layer of my skin.
Til it bleeds. Til the blood soaked your hands. It’s on your hands. My blood.
Like my rebellions you hate, like my intangible touch you avoid.
Play it safe, play it double safe.
Or keep it brave.
Keep it brave and close til it scratches the upper layer of my skin.
Til it bleeds. Til the blood soaked your hands. It’s on your hands. My blood.
This morning I washed my hair to cold up things inside the mind. It did not work.
The burning sense of breaking free.
The bleeding wounds that are no longer hurt.
The burning sense of breaking free.
The bleeding wounds that are no longer hurt.
Enjoy the ride. Enjoy hurting me and yourself. Live up the wounds, will you?
written on July 2012
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