I stand alone.
I then jump forward;
towards future,
nothingness.
The air blows from up north;
antarctic,
like my skin.
And it blows me.
Its painful breath
collides with each corner of self,
every single one of my dark, lone walls,
echoing notes of one;
a looping Si,
an unheard No.
The air escapes my steaming bell jar
by piercing through the top,
the boiling bulb;
letting me see veins;
letting me see red.
It escapes, so do my innards.
The piercing needle,
a black dot on a white sheet of paper.
A sentenceless period;
an accidental ink splat
shot like a bullet
through the peering barrel
of a dry, old pen.
Then the splat fades and splits.
And goes dry.
And goes white.
Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
I stand alone.
I then jump forward;
towards future,
nothingness.
The air blows from up north;
antarctic,
like my skin.
And it blows me.
Its painful breath
collides with each corner of self,
every single one of my dark, lone walls,
echoing notes of one;
a looping Si,
an unheard No.
The air escapes my steaming bell jar
by piercing through the top,
the boiling bulb;
letting me see veins;
letting me see red.
It escapes, so do my innards.
The piercing needle,
a black dot on a white sheet of paper.
A sentenceless period;
an accidental ink splat
shot like a bullet
through the peering barrel
of a dry, old pen.
Then the splat fades and splits.
And goes dry.
And goes white.