Where words lose meaning, there is always patience in the depths of wound. Where losing the daylight means the promise of tomorrow. Where I turn to stone. Hearts tuned to the radio wave, where banner waves turn us into photographic edge.
Where I fit into no particular mold. Not enough of any particular thing to create my identity. Nothingness. The pains of being plain. Torn my teeth on new knees. Watching as the patience fails you. Watching as you turn to stone.
Where my lack of identity is an identity. Where I compare myself to everyone and find I’ve fallen behind. I am a boy who got left behind. I am the past ignited. Carried away with light leaks and bad photography. Angular. Pear-shaped.