Shape Of A Hitchhiker
By Ashleigh Hatter
I'm not sure I'm fine, but I'm here. I'm not sure if that means much, but maybe it makes a world of difference. Maybe it does. But I can't be sure. There's a candle store I like going to, but when I approached, it was closed. And there's a movie I like watching, but my copy was scratched and broken. I like lots of things. But most are unreachable, forever. Sometimes I imagine when I bleed, the blood comes out as smoke. And other times I think that our spirits dance when we're asleep and they come out as smoke. Imagining things is my nature. But nature isn't up for my imagining. I'm sure there's a world where I'll fit in where my denim and my dreams are welcome And I'm sure there's a person who will like me and like the shampoo I use. There's a world out there for me, But I don't think it's this one. I'd like to leave and go to that other one, but I lost my boarding ticket years ago, and now I'm left trying to hitchhike to somewhere less/lonely less/painful less/human more/welcome
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