Dumbfounded paralysis
encroaches on the past
Spending memory
while lavish lava
spits the wake of a breath
Everything that lasts
is fast and was first
- to ignite the moon
- to own reflection
Shaking hands
choke the roses
to clear a path and leave
a trail of bloody pricks
The good fight
lost a thought
in a cage
that it became
before it caved
But you don’t actually want
my thoughts on the page
And I don’t want
to pour out my soul
Besides, it’s a solid
or a gas
Either way
who knows
as the moment goes?
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