the only aircraft flying over this dead-end town are so loud it sounds like the atmosphere is being ripped apart. usually i'm inside when i hear them but i imagine if i looked i wouldn't be able to see them. but the sound they make resonates with me. it's the sound my heart makes when i think about calling you up. if that sound can rip up the sky than surely, surely it will tear my humble flesh to shreds.
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52 writings
Puisia personal prose poetry anthology updated hourly, monthly, or never at all