Mundane run-on

The mind goes…

It reminds me of the screen

I take to falling apart quite gracefully if you would just get the fuck out of my way

who said I had to be whole for you

anyways

who said I needed to be measurements not given by

me

well fuck me and then take my thighs wet

to memories and I will touch upon it now and then

again

but most times i will regret

I will regret

I will regret

not leaving sooner…

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Agreed upon pronunciation.

She believes the human lives for the story.

The story of who they were, who they are, who they want to be and who doubted them as they still believed in well, the story of . . . them. . . of her…of you.

She ponders wishing on stars in the definition of  labels.

 Believing in grimacing and taking on the TIME as hers.

Thinking  she was given IT, time, to invest in her  life.

She sees now that you are the giving of nothing.

Nothing beyond the limits set before you, by others and the little they believed of themselves.

Which was fed by others who believed  even less in themselves…and so on…

So.

She questions.

Questioning who she thought she was, who she thinks she is.

Questioning the dream created during a time of escape and survival.

Questioning even, the agreement of  ink in relaying speech.

Agreed upon  pronunciation.

Questioning, for even speech, same as God and Jesus and lack there of, was birthed by humans.

Created and passed on for the purpose of , what else but,  a STORY.