i wanted to die today.
i thought about
old wreckages
of wistful,
trodden
Glory.
i thought about
The Hanged Man
in mirrors--
all the stasis.
All the waiting
on a railway
for a train
that won’t show.
i thought of how
my bed feels like Heaven
and Hell
in fevered
spades.
How the doors that lead out
seem to be doors to astral
places,
terrible places,
full of Bogeymen
and Sprites
in untold waltzes
of consecrated
chaos.
And they’re all out to **** me,
anyway,
so i thought i might want to die
today.