Oh.
Here's a little story that might be telling.
It's not gone.
Give me a word,
give me a word, I don't want to just scream.
I want to say yes,
never,
it doesn't happen so right away.
If the star is lit, low for half an hour.
Broken words make up the meaning of the text.
Aggression,
protest,
they pull me like a fishing line.
In my childhood I didn't like to read poetry,
so I didn't know how to put my life on the line.
