�� She sat in fading sunlight

Trying to exhale her fading past

���� Against a brick wall

�Her soul sank her through the ground �

�Too filled with Brazilian coffee and kisses

�(she wondered how past and future could

�������� be one

�� and how nothing ever died)

A yellow heart read �ANGER�

������� (I wonder what yellow means)

� It�s what I am to you �

�Black to yellow

������� Maybe heartbreak con se sunrise,

��� she thought.

������ NOW in a sterile, fluorescent-lit room

������ She freezes

����������� And is bold

�������� Photography is not reality �

���������������������������� It�s 2-dimensional, paper

������ Is this really real?

��� This bullshit room so quiet it buzzes �

���������������� soul less

����������������������������� empty

�(It�s drinking her blood, she is convinced)

She must jump out of the plexi-glass

���������������� windows

�� on to the sparkly sidewalk of S.F.

�We sat on the ISF

������������� protected by air

��� watching jungle envelop city,

��������� (or city envelop jungle),

�� looked up to stone arms open,

����� the first time I saw him unarmed.

�� We never knew how much the ride costed,

� how much you pay to buy back your

���������������������� own soul.

������� Really, it doesn�t matter.

The

����� Truth

�������������� Is

���������������� ��Simple.

�That�s truth, that�s simple.

������������� This place is true.

Tequila disinfects, kills

�������������� All of the bullshit

��� that humburgers and earl grey tea feed

 

������ �Tis this

������������� this �tis

������� Simply true

��������������� �����True, simply.

� Apples bitten, wrapped in European lined paper

��������� Ripped from the page of homosexuality

���� The core hidden

���������� Much like

������������������ Your truth.

 

The truth � tis deep and secret

� But I see (tee-hee).

So take me back

�To Brazil, where

����� Secrets hide on open lips.

�� Swim through Amazonian shade,

������������ Rise with the stream of Columbian coffee

�� And become us �

��������� (This is how secrets become truth,

��� Simple

������������� Really)

 

���� Really

���� Truly

���� Simple.

���� Running fingers over silky sheets

���� Sweat dripping empty pint and

���� Truth.

�(I found truth in that Irish pint)�

and thought, maybe I should

������������������������� find this

������������������������� more often