my skin is sensitive you know


my skin is sensitive you know

it remembers things that i don’t
and shows us the scars that i forgot
and i wonder how it finds the time
to hold the heat of the sun against my back
while smelling like a scent i’d long since lost
and raising the alarms when something
just ain’t right

i peeked inside the haunted cranium
and steven
he said there were pretty little
orange birds living inside it
i wish sometimes that i could just see the birds


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