ABOUT

Living in time, where clocks whisper gossip, papers sieve from existing
less I forget the huming of sky like it knows something—
probably taxes, a chatter of lost love for earth, or why hearts break
and still dare to keep beating.

(Like, chill heart. Take a nap)

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Silence?

She’s got a rhythm.
Only the brave, or very caffeinated, can hear.
(It’s mostly offbeat. And smells like rain.)​​