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i’m going to run away
with a brand new name
and then,
i’m going to write a thousand books
like postcards trying to explain where i went to
because that’s what i know how to do
(and wherever you go, there you are)
i’m going to stick a pin in a map and disappear
and in a small bookshop there, there’ll be a paperback with a new name and a new story to tell
and god, it’ll be magnificent for a while
and i’ll keep running because in the end i realised that’s what i needed to do to keep myself
i’m a prey animal, baby and that sticks to a person’s bones
(wish you were here)
i’m going to curate an entire life in an apartment a thousand miles from here
and i’m going to watch a different sunset
and i’m going to write about it
i’m going to fall off the edge of the world
and drift off into space
hold my breath ’til i freeze over
fall back to earth as dust
shooting stars, if you blink you’ll miss me
i want to be careless, darling
embedded in every tome
every keystroke
goddamn, i want to be careless.

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i’m trying to explain
that i know ghosts aren’t real
but this house reeks of them,
all the same
people crushed by the goddamn inevitability
of screaming crying turn your voice up because apparently you need to be louder all the time
and yes that’s going to get etched into the walls
and they’ll repeat that back in some sick form of muscle memory
chocolate box cottage that tastes of ash because there’s been a thousand small fires and not one of them ever burnt away the cruelty
and it echoes echoes echoes and you’re wondering why you can’t sleep at night?
when there are these careful whisper campaigns being launched against you
fuck – i’m sorry but these floorboards creak like breaking bones
and i’m scraping up the shards of the plate from the floor and yes, the stain looks like blood
darling i am trying to be gentle in a house that is trying to rip me to shreds
so excuse my tone when i ask you if we can have this discussion outside
i can’t breathe and i’m being eaten alive and every other excuse there is for feeling sad
i hope to god the foundations are weak and we sink into the mud
i’m trying to explain
that i know ghosts aren’t real
but this house is making ghosts of us,
all the same.