07 : suck myself out the heart i give it back



07 : suck myself out the heart i give it back

a warm underbelly

coffee bean ink

petrichor sheets


i miss my old process
of writing, simply writing
and living in the forest

i say it a lot because i mean it

the forest, the forest, the forest. things just don’t click here and i can feel it.

my instinct is always to go in search for something which does fit. or make the wandering itself a fit. the latter seems more aligned with my personality

i’ve erased what should be kept
in a journal


this poem is actually the last attempt
which is a first for this project

(they usually come quietly, then sit)


i’ve decided to save my favorite image/concept for another poem

instead of diluting it with this one


i don’t know if that’s cowardly or lazy

but i do know something is not working and something
must be surrendered



do we even remember what we’ve chosen to erase?



(yes. the answer is yes.)

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