You were always becoming

traveling, pulsating, growing,

stretching yourself while you

searched for the eye of the storm.

You were always choosing to love

girls as if they were trees,

tapering their branches.


Three point five years later

and you are probably still

in love with your valiant ideals.

Some of them might even have her eyes

her ability to see blueness.

Pretty girls with pretty eyes

and steel razors tearing soft skins,

exposing their DNA to you

who could care neither less or more.


And you may not physically trespass.

You may not pluck their leaves

or purchase their weapons

but you are always choosing the stairs

as if they are your only choice.

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