How

it always hurt to know i was written

but now it hurts to not be read at all

but now in harsh, human construct

of communication and the way she pushed

me to the ground I've always stood on

under the hair now holier than i have ever had

I'm okay here, and

I'll see Her sometime, and Her too

and somehow triangles form from a single

dot and

and I'm not even sure how they happen

at all