It's the end of the month. If I sent this to you every day and you didn't want to punch me, I owe you a coffee or something. Here's my take on the final Napowrimo prompt of the year. If you're enjoying these and want to see more of what I do outside of these months, you can follow my instagram @narrative_paralysis or check out my music-related thoughts on medium @leonardwalkerwriter. There's more on the horizon, as always.
...some are made of fog. some
mist over...lessen the ill-feelings
left behind by...
...some are burning in the likeness
of dull fuel, bugspray on a dying campfire...
...those who stay are...
...still considering the legal apparatus to
leave...anything outside of the doorstep at night
and it will remain there...here is a gift of
papyrus with nothing blemishing its outer
layer...they too, have summoned a feeling
from inside...
...each of them. each of us. we'll be known
before long, we just know it...
...are fine with interruptions. derailments, long
ways around it...so, I ask you once more...
...will we ever? seventeen snoring years and
a riot and then it is back to a more permanent...
...rest...it always ends with a bedtime story,
we tell ourselves...it's only us, always.
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