Music. You hear it now, don't you?
What's that sound?
Do you hear it, like I hear it?
Over my shoulder, though,
I've got ghosts and granules.

Voices. You hear it now, don't you?
What's that sound?
Do you hear it, like I hear it?
Evolved use of spoken
word, just to squander it.

I look around,
just to see,
loving my pointlessness
has afforded me,
nothing but
lack of company.

Quote me on this, please.
" I Love It "

Getting home.
Getting ******.
No aqualung, here.
Here, the lobes,
evergreen.
I'll die,
but I'm
perfectly fine
in my own eyes,
to be alive,
nowhere beneath,
yet.