1238
go to ground
I am crumbling
I rot, rust
I am a hundred years in these clothes
the work is unpaid because we believe
some pages are ugly but we will forget
because it is love
days numbered
talk yourself into things
talk yourself out
these wings all where I’m buried
tomb it too
I unscrew my head
everything of me seems fated
that’s how it is with the past
because we believe in it
come crisp in the fire
and bright the words
they were hard
lay down
stretch out
be tree
to rise
I must be
at the beginning
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