Gentle Destruction of a Gold Robot

No, I won’t tell anyone – I never do. It’s enough to be allowed in the presence of such views that when they start to ask me I easily refuse and get excited thinking of the things I’d really like to do. I’m building an immunity to butterfly wing poison and I’ve learned to build a fire like the good scouting boys and I can recite the last lines from books that you adore and I am keeping many secrets that should show up on the scale, at least a pound or too of useless pacts and midnight tales to ponder over gentle evenings with the smoke and summer winds, to be rocked to sleep by gravity and the imperceptible tilt of the earth towards tired winter, with its harshness and its whites, and its way of staying lit with clouds into the freezing nights when you should be here keeping me warm with your nervous little heart. I have kept a million secrets, I have left things in the dark of rooms that don’t even exist now – so different were the times – if memory’s a snowplow, then surely some things might be made to never unthaw, to never see the blessed break, to fall asleep after so many years of patient wait i am so tired so so tired so so so so so so tired

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~ by perfectionatrix on September 26, 2011.

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