enigmatic slime coasts across my left brain, cirrus clouds of doubt
there's a comfort in distrust, a heartbeat staggered like a score.
I could get the high score if I tried, I think, sometimes. there is rust in the bones of this locomotive motivation.
there are places in between.
unsettling places to settle have become so homely when I roam far from my own comforts
I just want a poison in my mouth, a specific spite
toxic turvy, spinning like a dreidel
when the red clay splatters we sip the sap of trees marking the borders of spiteful places we could've forgotten
we didn't
there's a comfort in discomfort distilled
daisies pushing up from your corpse











