The wood on the ceiling reminds me
Of my grandparents’ house
Tall pine trees with snow outside every window
I wanted to remain precious but instead
Made myself into expendable decadence
Cynicism hangs like dusty cobwebs
Triggering asthma of the heart
Vacating the property to commit to the fantasy
Disassociating to my other self I am not alarmed
Anxious enough to keep it together crying in my car
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