He kills me softly in silence and memory

I post his story tainted by a kaleidoscope cord

He kills me softly in songs that are eerily prophetic and equally not mine

I kill him softly as a third revolt for freedom of flight

He kills me softly singing perched by a love greater than the pain which inspires it

I kill him softly with ideas stinging, floating and rushing to discover its temple

We kill softly from a mean heart and open palm to merge our worlds

Of organized chaos

On the radio

An invisible frequency lost on an Album never made

In the underbelly where killing it softly reaches


Our song in the ridges of a cd broken on the ground of change

We kill each other softly

Locked and set freedom

From our songs

On the radio

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