ss - jump unless you want to fall

mason stared at the floor until the spots transformed into stars / patricia was late, she pulled up and brushed by the fence with two rusty hubcaps / mason pulled off the peeling paint as his mom tried to unlock the door with the taunting of the keys / babe--no one calls me by my name / I felt hairs on my neck that didn't belong there / stars are blinding / it's always this way, it's never okay / everything that I am is imported / the cracks don't belong / my thoughts from a rice farm in the mid 50's my hair from the spinning thread of 30 handmade wool sweaters, where did I inherit these thoughts / he stinks of barbecue fluid and wild mint at 3 o clock / arms let go of your halfway hug / through the trees I felt nothing particular / half smiles, half frowns, half empty, don't stop / returning to the darkness of my cocoon, as the shakiness suddenly settled / b said the rooftop is not ideal but it's an excuse for chimney smoke in the winter / I burped three times, to force the absorption of the silence,  and kept my eyes rested on stray hairs and uneven seats / hit the ground, don't come up now / b sank into the leather chair couch like melted candy wrappers and I sprayed the last bit found on the sidewalk smell away with soda in a spray bottle / mom wants to kill the plants for good / behind me was an invisible hand stroking my head with the touch of an owner who found their wandering companion, yet at this moment I through the milk to the floor as it turned the ground into the soft hue of cream soda / mason what's your grip / red stop lights are broken tonight / don't remind me of the 5th of march / driving along the abyss with kurt at 10:15 / torn off ticket stubs paving the way / fitting into the back of pants pockets would be nice for a change / bee's fluttered in slow motion as they crashed into the exterior of the porch / m wondered if they to were having trouble navigating the swiftness of april / 'come here' rang through the halls as the cashier sang over the microphone, ' lost, aisle seven.' / 


these are tibit's of a collection so far.
loveee,
Casey