Prozac 43

unknowmenclature:

i have this dream where i’m standing in the cold.
just kidding.
i’m doing that now, watching as propellers leave
the trees.
i can noiselessly melt into this environment, like the seasons.
see me
behind your fence, or directly behind you, trying to sidestep your sidestep?
i didn’t
think so. i’ve been good at booming my voice lately, but words bounce,
come back
as a sandwich—sliced and rephrased. why won’t they just stick

to skin

like tobacco? chemical bonds that need to be cleansed, dried, cleansed again.
my sensory stains
should require effort to remove, but at this point everyone is well-equipped
against everyone else.
let’s go back to that cold dream, i mean cold backyard—i mean cold reality.