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The secrets won't bind us in heatwaves anymore, the anticipation of autumn a delicate memory out of bloom, now finding its way through our veins.
I'd forgotten what it's like to tumble
unceremoniously to the ground, arms tied...
It's a rainy, dreary day
and I know you don't want to...
We eat pumpkin pie for breakfast,
whipped cream in spoonfuls...
The autumn sun touched the
nape of my neck, today...
There’s an unnamed force pulling me
to indulge in a train ride through the Rocky...
Ink is my testimony; I pour it out and watch it bubble then boil until it burns my fingertips.
"Ready for warfare?", my mind antagonizes.
"I wasn't created for battlefields", my heart insists.
My heart is sick with grenades.
by tobias kinti