a day to navigate

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the clearing out of old debris from the youth of these bones, from under the layers, that maybe wheren't supposed to have grown so thick and rigid and stuffed up with sadness, such a sadness that words fail to paint its portrait; and it is but a mask with empty eyes that roar in mindless space and a gaping mouth whose jaws claw at your absolutely horrifying nakedness; its vulnerability cast open to the, to the, to the


i hate it so when people die, shared memories cut in half, slaughtered, twisted and robbed of their intensity; already sinking back in the haze of the fear glistening now; slipping away in the smoke from so many mirrors that deny me; or its voice and the silence eruption; the chaos and colors moving in and out of focus


the nausea; the train in the tunnel, always in the tunnel, in a cascade of light that obliterates the edges and blinds out the night, and time blurs; the corpse of my thoughts shake, beckoning me to come to bed again, or is it a grave; elevated or what. do graves always have to be bound to the ground. it's so silent in here i can't hear myself; let me


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