that I care so much for what I see coming out of my
memories. I understand that my visions rest heavy
on your shoulders and I wasn't responsible for the
sweetness of the moment; I dangled words before
you, who then whispered into them. Ignore my
fingers pressing hard against my temples; I know
there is life trapped in the skeleton of our collective.
So tear up the manuscript, and pull me up sometime
next week, brandishing your latest works of art.
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