like a stream on digital paper

Dependent on how fast the cars are driving and here's another thing darlin' they either try to miss you or crash (shattered glass and flesh and bones and plastic all) through your thoughts indignantly washing away the ill pleasures we create every day create and need create for some reason (beyond reasons) behind the kindle where you frown (and an almost pretty face becomes ghastly coated by a thousand years) but unhidden unprotected by such small electronic devices made to spin words out in flat lifeless pages (blinking) page 1 page 2 page 3; has page 1....gone? it no longer exists... to where...I can see you dying or living alittle pixels meet pixels and I blend, wishing to know (if we could lie to each other a moment) or find each other a moment could we- play tricks to see how gray (sad) your eyes have always become.