(i was a lonely estate)

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the closest thing to heaven

my thoughts bleed out
like muffled sounds i didn't mean.
my flopping, wailing regurgitation crawls
out of me & into the soil where
i see you standing.

you tell me how much you need me.
it is your sole, sacred mantra.

like dew on blades of grass,
i wait for gravity to take my hand
& lead me to the ground;
a lasting reminder of the universality of love,
or humans, or the god you grew up with.
he/him



I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights