Okay, so trust me. Heart of gold, Gryffindor fur will insulate and protecc. Downward cast eyes in spiral, zonked out on wishing well fantasies. Backward toss, backward flip into nothingness; abyss. It’s a trust fall, down the rabbit hole, layers of rock and sediment in a cylindrical shape going down into the psyche or other. Hand-holding recompense, apology. The bottom falls out without. Taking to to scale the mountain of this particular relationship because I need there to be trust, and honesty and loyalty. Roundabout foresight, samadhi. Betrayed trust: Glass shattered on cold concrete. Unexpected splash of cold water while you’re sleeping warm in your bed. Teleporting stomach. Your heart is an elevator which has dropped fifty stories. The shakes – Butterflies on methamphetamine. Rolling. Frolicking. Dive-bombing. Saved Mary on Tuesday morning, scribbled out a note, more like a warming, warming, warning. Thick bass lines that will catch me when I emotionally fall. Trust that these habits are not traps but trampolines and parachutes, the kind we had as kids in gym class, all rainbow.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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