the graybright sky smells emphatically of nothing. cold humid prickles, the ghosts of raindrops, rise on the backs of my hands.
today, i want to cleave myself in two, that i may be more exposed to the world. i want to tape my eyes open until they fill with tears and the everything turns into a blur of colors. i want to be the off-key tuning fork for the pianos in the trees.
even when you see it, you can't know if it's real.
today, i want to cleave myself in two, that i may be more exposed to the world. i want to tape my eyes open until they fill with tears and the everything turns into a blur of colors. i want to be the off-key tuning fork for the pianos in the trees.
even when you see it, you can't know if it's real.
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And I guess it depends on your definition of real.