regret is just a witch that time can't dissolve.
and there is never a shortage of dancing fools in each word I drool.
then we wait. wait for death. wait for the next rumbler.
as our phones load, we implode.
because each pasture, each plateau is a waiting savior.
with promise that turns into lies by the time we cry.
the wind carting us off somewhere greener.
and sometimes it is better, but sometimes it's worse.
my body is an inked anchor, never asking to be free.
just wanting and waiting to be happy and healed.
on the edge of the beach where I explode into a thousand feathers.
without the want to be more, more to explore, ardor and inches.
the sun forest of song, the need to belong, it all escapes this place.
bury me with my riches which are just books and biscuits.