By: Shelbi Henny
this was a process to sink deep into monotone that flourish in oxygen that feed into the streets of graffiti and painted signs that lead me on that pull strings and taper voices leaving me silent swimming in thoughts grooving into guitar strings that caress by your fingertips and mold me in clay punctual to terror that seems sensual to unknown outcomes that leave you in fountains slowly sipping water like fruit tantalizing the image of you searching in corners of food when knowledge spills in paragraphs to stories that commute fast trains traveling into loading capabilities lusting in inadequacy completing the motions of signing the truth languages make no sense just moves
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