We are in the spells, the handmade
river of promise. We are the shadows
rising against the peeling personalities
of ourselves when no one is around.
When the dark empties into our
veins, we're smiling. Emptying the
shattered glass into the sea and
pretending we don't hurt. That we
haven't been burnt. In the ageing
shade of freedom, we learn how
to stop ourselves from smiling
too much, because we know
how far down we'll f-
we have crawled inside
the sheets, selling ourselves to
fate and he watches you sleep
waiting till you slacken the alert
mode and he stikes. i still dream
of our countries of words, starlit
and humble, under the impression
we are damaging ourselves but
really, we are only breaking and
learning to rise after each fall.