i’ll run my hands through the knee-high grass. eyes half-closed. i don’t remember how i got here… but i’m here now, i suppose…

and why won’t this place let me go? because every time i try to run away, the garden wall will press in; cuddling me close. stuffing my baggy lungs to the brim; with newspaper flyers and hypnotic smoke.

and it will refuse to leave me alone, you know? because i will be young. and small. and broke.

and so, like dorothy, and oh so many who’ve come before me, i’ll surrender myself to the perfect august sun.

and you may take me. you may swallow me whole. and you may run.

you may blow me out like a candle. smother me, as the bedsheet catches fire. as your walls begin to crumble. i’ll be a summer seedpod; as i come undone.