gravity is too light, it let's me float for seconds at a time. like lyric, like rhyme from a poet with a beautiful life. like the sweetness of the knife.
the summer is too kind, it keeps me flying, like a kite. like the air, like the yellow from the sunlight. keeping back the night.
herecy is too slight, to speak of joy would be betrayal, it would fall over. it wouldnt feel right to my bones and eyes. or to my careful disguise.