when i let the shadows take , over , . i’m reminded of the four , leaves on the clovers i , grow , . ,
suffocate the sun , with , snow , is the rain , worse , either way i’m reveling in sitting here alone , . ,
maybe i can , trade , misperceptions for a crane , lift me high enough to get above polluted air- , -ways , . ,
i might get it done without an automatic raise , . , when i don’t , move , i feel more and more , space , get be-
-rated by adults , giving me a free , con- , -sult , thanks , but i’d rather sulk , and incinerate , in ,
bulk , . , it’s a new , thing for me to not , feel , dull , from the binging all to make it through a lull , . ,
guilt , is in tilt , and i’m heaver than silt , so it lifts , and i’m squatted at the bottom of a hill , . ,
people come along , and we’re equilibrial , but they leave , and i’m always left to sleep , how i’m built
