Reid@YWP

The streets were bright and alive, much larger than in previous months. The air, was filled with so much heat you could practically see it.

"Our hands are light blue and gentle. Our eyes hold terrible confessions." 

-Anne Sexton 

How naive to think glass shattering is someone breaking in, 

Now, I know it may seem common, even shallow —  
to answer with such a simple thing, 

but 'tis what draws my heart — 
the Fox, silver fur, dancing in moonlight. 

Tendrils of anxiety 

Snake out 

And trap me 

Opening a hole 

Where my brain 

Goes down 

Finding everything 

That could go wrong 

A new crack in me

Four corners set each way, 
And I still sit in the box. 
The left could sin me, 
Right could win me, 
Front or back could block. 
I could become a famous tool, 
Or infamously triumph,