Dying Pedals Means Fall

If we don’t work to make our dreams come true, I’m interested in our focus.

One day all is pleasing, tired of dodging floors splattering eggs up to the face.

I want to write but instead we play mind reader blaming each other when we refuse to say something is wrong.

Eventually, we come upon a new shore, stay or swim away very unsure if it’s us or just the moon.

Not sure if it’s the moon, wasting moments, a program I finally notice, hmm.


Have you ever felt inadequate for someone’s heart, tension thicker than blood?

Clogging opportunities instead of coming together, writing in cursive on the I should leave side of her journal.

We’re still immature, if we can’t get over our eyes filled with pride.

Communication fails kill the best intentions, pedestals with trap doors.

What are you thinking about after reading this?

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