It’s those wind chimes while you clear your throat,
that thin breeze before a storm.
(a still and fair warning)
It’s that half inch of sludge
between your skeleton and skin
that shows in your morning’s face.
(a moment of innocence before seeping
into a bloated sense of self)
It’s those horns you’ve bent into a halo,
while wearing birthday dresses
with the stains of strangers and saying,
“Reassurance is for insecurity.”
It’s that dust between the cracks of floorboards
which can’t be seen
but with breath comes sneezing.
(a collection to walk on top and ignore)
You’re that piece of eggshell that fell
into the bowl of yolk,
dodging hands to help get out.
(a mindset comprised
of suppressed memories)
You’re those rainbow colors in the road
made by motors that went over.
(A puddle from the runoff of others)
There are wind chimes while you clear your throat.
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