"A descent from grief into hallucination, where the hallway itself becomes the weapon’s final witness."
The hallway breathes like a wounded animal,
its walls weeping my mother’s voice in silver threads of rain,
and his laughter stitched deep into the bruised fabric of the shadows;
but as I move closer,
the plaster ripples like black water beneath a paper moon,
the walls blooming with my mother’s eyes
that blink in time with the whispers,
and his laughter drips from the ceiling
in threads of molten glass;
each step sinks deeper
into the floor’s slow breathing skin,
while the gun in my hand hums
a lullaby of broken clocks,
already dreaming the ending will taste of stars and blood,
spilling wide into the night,
into the air, into everything.
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 12:39 PM UTC
"A descent from grief into hallucination, where the hallway itself becomes the weapon’s final witness."
The hallway breathes like a wounded animal,
its walls weeping my mother’s voice in silver threads of rain,
and his laughter stitched deep into the bruised fabric of the shadows;
but as I move closer,
the plaster ripples like black water beneath a paper moon,
the walls blooming with my mother’s eyes
that blink in time with the whispers,
and his laughter drips from the ceiling
in threads of molten glass;
each step sinks deeper
into the floor’s slow breathing skin,
while the gun in my hand hums
a lullaby of broken clocks,
already dreaming the ending will taste of stars and blood,
spilling wide into the night,
into the air, into everything.
