Prose

pressed keys

ive got to keep on holding on to this keyboard and the life that lives and leaves me the black plastic keyboard gathers into my frown brown hands making a small mould for me makes it all feel like a dream with the keys pressed into my palms and the software staring through my rapid face im a simple king of my emotions, they crowd me now look for a face between the pages of roughly hewn software spitshitting my pages between brackets and hemidemisemi colons who themselves are

nervous of the cursor

but then back to the main page where i can at least breathe without an emotional choke and squeal from it you see i feel to good like that strutting out in the rough public who seem to throw a few glares and bulleted comments numbered by rage and date

again

maybe its me hiding behind that nervous cigarette held in my smooth fingers ive always been good with the smoke that drapes you across the room itll listen when you get close enough to speak and then once a mutter escapes it splashbackflashes like a firstime shy girl whose not meant for the show tonight

she will at least watch me

through the vital light and nervousness that crowds and irritates her curtain hair and fatalashes look at me will it ever last through the game and my bleak sense of interest a predicted momentum and almost just about ready to leap into the shadows smoke and darknavy part of her dress that

not many of us have talked about yet because the rest of the show seemed so much more muddled and interesting to the pie lit eyes and bakery faces cooking under those fragile dance lights that catch up with the rhythm laced into her loins lying along the rest of us in jokes beer crackedcans tenderjeers soberyears coke pulse and leftover smoke coming from me and

the keys i pressed

Β 

Β 

PhilosopherPoet

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