I wait in 4/4 time,
Count yellow highway lines,
That you're relying on to lead you home.
I try to count the notes as they slip through the pages. The fairytale scatters and none of the edges line up, ripped and torn beyond repair. I try to breathe in the words but they cut like a knife, double sided down my throat and into my belly, heavy with the lies they catch along the way.
Remember that madness falls on the back of butterfly wings.
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Photo by lovely, ever patient
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Photo was taken on my lovely lovely new DSLR, Oswald. SEXY FILMING HERE I COME.