Permanent

In this skull is only a high pitched cloud. 
I was half as awake as anyone held onto.
Waking up early is permanent.
That wasn’t my childhood.
I don’t have anything like that.
Just little beeping and whirling sounds.
I live outside the photo.
I don’t trust anything that can get blurry.
The blurriness might be permanent.
I hope my skull is too.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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