Blood. Red revolution
hero her narrator
invented the derailer
for the train spinning in spirals
driving in loops.
I can still see the looping point.

World-ending catastrophes, world wars,
crises,
had become cliche.
there were only personal tragedies
shovelled onto rows and rows of dingies.
I ******* love statistics, I'll throw myself in too.

Dear.
Hug your plushies.

she's too **** kind.
who am I to speak,
a passive dead partisan
who never even was with the front
against an empire of evil ready to **** us both
with comorbity of another ******* spiral
a victim in a roomfull of monsters
unfortunately too weak to die
with random icons of a red hero
the closest can only make things worse.

I hugged her plush. It was ergonomic.

all that's heard is tinnitus
all that's felt is about the same
staring at you at no length
your sight forever blank.

play as radiators in winter
burst
its waters steaming across facades
failed
this part is cancelled
would've done it if I remembered how.

what a disgusting play, lack thereof
shove a stake in this ******* mind;
bears mentioning you're gone
and your sight's forever blank.

Black ink is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem printed and erased with black ink
 Black ink which is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem printed and erased with black ink
 Black ink whose plight we've lit astray
astray we'll light your dark away
 Away we'll sing his blight from you
you don't see it yet but four lefts here take you somewhere new.

 Black ink is all that fills these streets
these streets I've walked the same for years
 For years I read and retyped this poem
this poem that has no repetition
 but either ascension
 or recession.

Hundreds of thousands of files
spread across
Built, nailed, welded together
As hundreds of thousands of faces
you've seen them all:
The contributions are standing
like monuments!
Rays to the skies
rocking the aerial block
For such is our game
the electric madness
Block-rocking genius.

All pieces fell to us perfect,
Slotted like a square in its hole
or a circle! It matter not,
It still took us there in the end.

Those who broke into the Altar
have only ever had the bravery to break,
But you were different.

Sight of ancient flannel
did not trigger a need
For lustful glamour
of an otherworldly deed;
You didn't see yourself
on a fancy cover
With a glossy texture
but only as, dare I say:
Just a guy who loves adventure...

As your horns feld apart
at sight of relic, me, or both,
It's signalling: a break of pace
an only paradise unbound...

Let us reach through the Altar,
Hike with me
My unrequited hero.

the last thing that'll ever come out
a tired white blanket reading
"we're gone."