my life support;
keeping my pulse at
these awkward rhythms, screaming
stories of scuffed shoes and
Bridges that held us
as we inhaled the trees
fading into the sky, and
the warn areas below
Do you remember?
Oh, Miss Guild
a time when this nostalgia wasn’t
wrapped around our necks?
"but you cant have a cure if
you don’t have a diagnoses,
just layers and layers of diseased organs and
it'll pass, it'll pass,
like the warn yellow slapped onto these city streets,
trampled by tourists,
and all else that leaves too quickly.
but I've been inhaling these bread crumbs lately,
they were never baked to be eaten,
just to mold between these interstates that separate us.
are these just rambles to you,
or a constant reminder of how unnecessary these oceans between us really are?
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