Under pressure, bending flowers
scanning clouds for signs of showers
trotting past the beast at large
dashing deeper into scars

standing high but screaming low
turning cheeks, expecting blows
finding peace in restless nights
waking up beneath the lights

fumbling ’round for pictures past
trying not to make them last
flowing outwards, never in
questioning my dorsal fin

lying down to sort things through
picturing no one but you
coughing up unanswered steps
walking down, look to the left.


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