aching.
ya want heaven huh?
ya gonna have to deal with
a constant ache
in ya gut
in ya bones
in ya head
n in ya heart.

heaven don’t come free kid.
heaven is just the
rich man’s hell.

We’ve set sail and
Our heads have been in the clouds
For the past six months.

I took you to other worlds
You took me to
The real world,
Not flushed out of
Perspective from
A skinny blonde
With a pocket of
Perfectionism and
Middle class ignorance.

You’ve never looked down
Your nose at me,
Even when we kiss
You close your eyes
And breathe me in fully.

Rejects with big dreams
And big hearts
And a big hatred for the world.

And you said you couldn't ever love
But you hold me so close when
You’re dreaming in the early hours of the night.

light whispered to our quiet souls on that ethereal night where we
dove headfirst into the nethertides;
void jumping, hopping
wormhole slipping.
wide eyes fixated on the
thousands of stitches of space and time
like astralwebs
creeping with celestial spiders
that you couldn’t help but
break with each breath.

You breathed gin.
This is blood for you.
Your hands held your hair and your eyes shut.
The alcohol lulled your brain to black.

It escaped your veins,
Diluted by 37.5% truth serum.

Gasping at the
Divine realisation
Where slurred lips
Contradicted
Your once straight-faced,
Certainly-certain speakings
Of your very crooked lie.

So crooked, it wound his heart around yours.
But that ball of yarn unravelled in an instant.
And the jumper you knit together,
Came apart
Stitch by stitch.

In my fogged memory,
I had choked myself that night
With a bottle and a ball of yarn.

The seeker looks.
The seeker does not listen.
The seeker knows the voices in his head tell lies.

The seeker hides.
The seeker's bones become shadow.
The seeker knows not to let his muscles creak.

The seeker feels
Inside his pockets
Where he found Knowledge-Gnomes and carving tools.

The seeker sees
Through brass, rose-tinted goggles
And bushed eyebrows and bags that sank into his cheeks.

The seeker reads.
The seeker's hands touch parchment,
The seeker's hands feel ink, like a kings would gold.

The seeker knows all, yet nothing.
The seeker speaks all, yet nothing.
The seeker's wisdom, enchanted into every grain of sand,
And yet enchanted, still, into none at all.