POEM: Unchaste

I try to avoid envy but I am a post-therapy artist.
Lover of foul language and Bad Thoughts
Visitors from insomnia
A word needs inventing for when she climbs down from the sky
 
I try to avoid envy but I am a human and I cannot pretend not to see.
The Incas based their measurement of time on how long for the sweet embrace of death.
It’s illegal to have different conceptions of anonymity.
 
Did you ever love like falling down the stairs
 
There’s gravity on their wedding day.
There’s gravity on me.
With an average flight speed of 25mph who can blame the humble survived.
 
Her whispers sound like hares, or hills, or folklore, or rivers
I’m writing another song of morning colour
Thousands and thousands of words to the sky.
 
The only way out is through prisms and travel into the night
Everything we touch becomes a little bit folk horror
How can I know if you don’t tell me
 
Remember: it’s not the triumph but the struggle

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