my fide.
I am trying to figure out who I was, who I am now. I have no idea. That’s all I ever wanted to know. All I want to do is take care of myself, but there always seems to be a new way to destroy something. You can touch a neck, you can squeeze the heart. My chest pump is a sprinter. I get so excited about certain things that I have to catch my breath, remember to extend it, keep it slower than my pace. The wind still feels so good. I still dig the smoking circles. I still hope for later nights for good conversations but lately I’ve been going to bed early. I feel like I have a story to tell but where do I begin? I guess the middle and go both ways and reveal too much. A snake admitting its tail is a rattle, revealing. The blades of grass I crush under my feet. I am sorry for that. I am sorry too much.