You don’t have to tell me how to be so elegantly warped, beautifully broken & dangerously close to the edge of something completely unknown.
(If I was lost in saucers of weak tea, I’d fall deep, deep, deep into green rings and orange stars).
I’m on the fine line of reality. Nerves. Heads. Wrists. Bones. Veins.
Boiling in orange peels & the limping stock of your marrow.
Let’s run away to the end of something, blink at the darkness, squint at the light.
Go, go, go, going… Skewed.