We can turn our ribs into roll cages but we’ll never survive the crashMature

We turned our chests into race cars,
but that only ever made it easier.
Your fingertips build houses along my spine,
an entire kingdom shivered into existence.
I’ve been burying all this sorrow in your chest
and you just swallow it up and the marshland grows.
We climb towers during thunderstorms, smoke joints
at the top and confess all the things we’ve never really forgiven.

The End

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