Over yellow pages

“And when we looked outside,
Couldn’t even see the sky.”- Sleep On The Floor, The Lumineers

writing
is as simple as
hearts beating,
drumming liquid music
through networks
of vulnerability,
breathing life into
temporary spans of spaces,
as simple as the
mechanical thrumming
of hearts running
on hooked wires and
tangled remains.

writing
is recovering
what I’m losing
when I choose to
hold my words back because
I still cannot bring myself
to risk it-
bold and daring, I am not,
and I trust you with my life
but I don’t trust you
not to leave and that has
always mattered more.

writing is rewriting
till I’m so sick of how
I’m feeling
I stop feeling it.

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