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nineteenth, mar the most darkly orange bird is perched above my head; he flitters, he is beautiful. all the oranges that taste so sour they're just for show have fallen from the trees. i need this warmth so bad right now. i can still smell all the colors of the flowers in the air even though i'm blowing bursts of smoke from my nose. you said you'd meet me there, under my tree. i hoped you would ride your expensive fucking bike which would give me some time in the sunlight so bright it was shining just for me. but i knew that you would just drive, like you always just drive. i promise myself to tell you these things, harsh and sharp like jagged rocks. but when i feel you walking this way, the pills taken for bravery have kicked in but i do not feel brave. no, i'm sentimentally soft. i watch myself stumbling down the same twisted path that ends in varieties of traps, but by that point i really don't care anymore. i just keep watching. over any drug, sex i'll tell you is what fucks with your head the most. it's the highest high - nothing can beat it - yet it conceals within its alluring perfume the most ramifications i know of. |