Bombshell

a dancing ghost amoungst the memory trees.

a living thing that writhes and pulses....but lacks definition.

deeds undone.  a whispery catastrophe.

but none of it makes sense...does it need to? it all makes sense.

i want to sleep next to trinkets that tinkle, sit under a sun that sets, laugh under colours that sparkle. the only tears would be from the moon.

freedom.

i want freedom.

freedom with my pixie bean. no more cages. no more stifling. being able to fly again.

there's so much more to life than this. i want to live it.

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