I am the gust that
blew out the flame
and tossed the stone
I am the lady in white
one finger bloodied
and pointing
I am the hermit
crushed by the stone
I am something old
something new
and something glued
I am a doll
every string tied
not cut
I am whiplash
I am the impact
I am the looked upon
I am the try again
I am
I am
I am
[Error]

I followed the moon last night
it led me back home
to a small town of wanders
and warm tinted company

the sun followed me this morn
the radio told me what it looked like
before I could see anything
just how high up
do i have to be to see it

then I saw
orange
against
the blue

a singing flame
and a living stone
greet the air
and they sing themselves
to a drunken slumber

the moon has shrunk
there's no sunrise in the morning
the radio doesn't describe anything
and the flame died at first gust
I'm waiting for the moon to show me

Soak
Soft music
Hard truths
A loss
So large there's no way in
A between to cope with
A reality to live
The fatality of it
It's been 2.5 since

when self-destruct is
coming home after doing all you could
at 24:00
and choosing to drink
and drink
when you have work in the morning

as if i would have had any better luck
trying to sleep
without the alcohol

at least i can enjoy a few hours
before the insufferable grind once again

somehow
i sleep better after
a night of drinking

have i grown this
fungus heart
myself?
have i
reconstructed myself
to survive in the conditions
i’ve created?

sloth
is the sin i brew
neglect
is the symptom
how do i solve this
when avoiding is
what comes natural

the virus grows too much
when i stay too still
so i keep moving
infecting all yet
trying to escape
this fate
as if running
stops the wound
from bleeding

but still
it is not as if
staying still makes
anything more
then an ecosystem
of self-destruct