some nights


i sit here and just feel like crying on the shoulder of a spider plant extending into the open air of an attic room…


some nights, i just sit on the porch looking up at the sky speaking of love and white wine, feeling pain (or white wine) filling my chest with that sadness that has been repressed and held back and forced down and
awakened…


crying on the shoulder of a spider plant… flailing into the open air of infinity…



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