crisp grace notes like a flowing falsehood flavored to taste after brazen attempts to pare film on the firmament, light broken apart and bent aberrancy for the sake of itself, or if for some other thing, I did not see it cross sections of old films and well-functioning defense mechanisms healed better, not so pretty “I feel” kissing you made me sick-frozen from fright of bite troubled is as troubled does scapegoats fancied like play lists played as bedtime stories for empty people with excuses between the bed sheets shrills to a march, whose heart is not there to solidify a fog into all-out rain, to further menace a drear grope my rain-soaked trousers, I’m meat worry not: your name is safe with me and there will be no lies handed out because we’re fiction enough to ourselves to tire us even in sleep
b.robb