Rocksolidbabee

we are exhausted from the black box guilt under the waves, the drinker’s need that carries us home to make believe once, briefly, we had a lot to say. what I remember each morning isn’t harmless. what we outlived at home strikes, retreats every comfort, every dreaming secret insisting on its own innocence. I begged to be a third person candle inside a groaning pumpkin husk - this rehearsal making me glow.