I assassinate the moment right now. What is unawareness but the death of reality?
I leave the gunshot exploding in my gut. Like a slightly over enthusiastic cat.
I saw it was blindness that testified on my behalf.
I was raped by the good book. No one would testify on my behalf.
In terms of time I see very little difference between turning off a light and the sun going down.
I arrived nowhere that exists. Came back as stillness solidified.
Crystal rain shards that stain the flesh and hair. Slithers of coloured wounds.
I ran spat out of the mouth. Hit a signpost for the bible black as night.
Came in the mouths of infinities with faces gaping.
Infantile wailing faces within the kaleidoscopic sun's core. I am spared from their voices.
I catch my exaltations on the tongue.
Murdered my saint and reincarnated the heart brilliant blue.
Good-bye to the dream of tomorrows. Today never ends.
I live in a glass house and dream glass clear dreams. I eat moonlight through transparency.
Rain and grey Japanese reeds blowing in an ink illustration. Silken storms without winds.
Time is conceptual putty. Playdoh for narcosis.
Synchronicity is the acceptance of how reality flows. Trusting the process of being assaulted.
I'm drowning and waving please don't help me.
The news cheapens suffering. Matter of fact extended ad nauseam.
Aphorists write the same truth in different ways.
The moon felt exhausted to me by its relentless reflection.
The flesh is willing for sleep but the spirit is an insomniac.
I want to write something that cannot be thought of. A poetry of hallucinations that cannot be visualised. My life is in debt to the pricelessness of impossibility.
The days are not seperated by night. They are just an extension of eternity.