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308#308Cold air rushes over my skin it flows the touch of an early loverthis wind tears at my hair, touching my wet eyes like an old mans fingertips tears streak my cheeks, drying coldI see balconies fly by. glass doors and people within their televisions.The ground is rushing up to meet me.How quickly stories pass.Seventy two stories from the room where I sleep. and as i fall this icy wind is smooth on my naked bodya glass roof explodesshards sparkle and dance a constellation from within a supernova outwardsbathed in sudden scarlet you are reading this. you hear your breath quietly
thinking, ever sinkingi cannot sleep.its been two hours and still i liethinking ever sinking. here i stand again,the porch behind my house wood creaks and echoes recallthe sharp scraping of plastic tricycle wheels turningi am speeding in circles around me and my brother behind on a green bicycle, foam on the frameOrange Crush cans the size of a thimble clatter as they slide on the spokesyet i stand in the middle of it all laughter echoes in flurries spins and dances like fingers through my hairi was seven but what does it matterthis wood and memory has collapsed long ago. torn down to build a gardenforsaken though it is empty earthnothing grows and nothing stands a foster child