say it


An addiction to the light that shines in people’s eyes when you knock them off their script.

The sun violently throwing itself at the window,
the road you take to the office inexplicably carpeted by
vines overnight,
your car an adult-sized tricycle.

THAT kind of aggression: pots and pans as alarm clock
(You’re burning daylight!)

This is the gift that was prophesied
the one that only has to make sense if you want it to.

Strong preferences for smashed-up teleprompters, an
acquired taste for the sharp edge of a

waking dream.


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