bleached in disillusion

the avalanche is not one to plant its feet with steady rhythm. architecture isn’t ready until it acts dismissive.

bombs may be as organic as a thicket. i’m neither a picnic spread nor your calisthenics.

i’ve never considered space important enough to chase. i assumed our formulaic archetypes could sway.

how is there a template to identify mistakes when the error made, ironically, is flawless tirades.

underneath sophistication rests a blueprint for why i choose to stand my ground beside tulips.

volunteer to save myself. i can be your ruins. we can see the stain of health bleached in disillusion.

i clean my bunker while i let my room suffer. mold sticks to tiles while i coddle comfort.

wishing to be different is sailing without a rudder. going against the winds of rough terrain is sand for supper.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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