Eight Letra

Drawn forward by a magnet that buzzes in my ears and steals my short breaths. Right to the front. Safe from the rules, the attitude, the staleness. And now, as the paper fantasy yellows like old newspaper, inked with the knowledge that is drawn from dead smiles, I can't remember when I became the paradigm, and looked in, instead of up. My reflection, like old pictures, reminds me that you never realize who you've become until you see yourself in someone else. As I become part of it.