Wednesday, October 19, 2011

The crinkle, smooth and plasticy.
Green, crumble, crumble, down.
Feel for the hole,
Don't let it breathe.
The click of the fire,
It's burning up, red and black.
Pull it in,
Fill your chest with fire.
It burns a hole in your heart,
and you breathe.
It's in your head, your eyes,
It makes you lighter,
Runs through your body,
Until all that's left is air.
Your heart is flying,
And the music moves through you,
With its skit skat beat.
That old song plays in your head.
You are home.

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