These outcroppings are sharp Just when I thought I cut myself on your tongue for the last time.
Cut to the chase. You always know what to say in times like these, even if you regret saying it afterwards
Incarnations of our ghosts, brought back to life again.
Again we must follow the ritual Again we must endure the pangs of salvation Of trust. Of contentment. Of swearing on your mother’s grave you would leave this town someday
But you haven’t. And you probably never will.
I will wait. I’ll sit. I’ll write. I’ll plot and scheme. Did you think I was the hero? The protagonist?
We’re all trying the best we can, but that doesn’t seem quite good enough. Forgive, but don’t forget. Bury the seed and water it with 64 ounces daily.
But you’ll be a redwood soon. I can feel it.