spit_bubble_or_eyelash raze what's dancing on the tongue isn't what it pretends to be. it's gone too soon to give itself away, as tenuous as the trust shared by strangers who say without speaking, "my strange could melt into yours if you would just meet my eyes." but candle wax burns the same as any ill-trained heart and stains twice as long. how fast a thing so tender and carrying so much heat can turn, when the stone that weighs you down is the only place to rest your head, and sleep comes on like a slow seizure, taking what it wants and giving back faded photographs that rend the mind. 210719 what's it to you? who go blather from