Like a kite
In the dark,
I have a spotlight on an orange glow.
Where true colors show like burners on the wall in the streets,
Parallel but not strait.
I used to smell of teen spirit and contemplation,
Now I'm worried for vacation spaces between the green and purple screen of my door.
The side door we use more.
I walk out twice a night or four
For a cigarette,
Smoke weaves and silly scents to help me make sense of this.
I can sense a shift in the winds tonight.
Why do you feel like an orange kite?
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