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Bleeding Words

If I could tell the trees to evolve a new species it would be wasted on them. So I told the bank teller.

All I got was a muddled expression and excuse me? So I repeated myself and she smiled and said ain’t that the truth.

The air feels as if it would crush me here on this concrete plane if it knew who I was and wasn’t so busy moving.

I took a deep breath and pushed some molecules and dust particles deep into my lungs and gifted the earth with carbon dioxide. I thought I heard thank you but it could have been my imagination.

I saw ten million people all lined up to be heard, but there was no one to listen they were all lined up to be heard.

So I volunteered to listen but my attention was exhausted after the first fifty three. Then I just nodded.

If you can feel the ring finger on your left hand, raise it. It’s really hard, isn’t it? I mean to feel it.

I have noticed how eager my hands are. Such willing servants.

I get the feeling that my neural network is supplied with traffic lights, or else I would be really confused.

They sometimes run the red lights and speed up for the yellow and all hell breaks loose with the green.

 

I press my head against the cinder block wall and push until I bleed words.

 

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2 Comments

  1. I really enjoy this style, as if giving more credit to passing thoughts than they might deserve.

  2. if that ain’t the definition of my writing I don’t know what is. thanks for the read!

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