I exist moment to moment, falling to pieces through the spaces between. Afflicted with visions of wounded skies hemorrhaging slivers of heaven.

There is a placelessness. A cryptic homesickness.

The stars gone cold and the fallen gods are my brothers and sisters– waking suicides coarse bodied and wandering. Hungry for life that transcends life.

I’ve sunk to the bottom. Fucking with monsters on the bedrock. Leaning into the outro at the backdoor of the cosmos, where the final hour approaches smeared in gold and rouge. Nothing left but an off brand Elita blown to bits and a dream that’s run dry.

3 thoughts on “Hangups”

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