handplucked, stared at, silence.
examined front-to-back, indifferent,
and dropped in a cylindrical hell
unlike any other you'd ever know.
subject, object, experiment.
a constant mire of hate, sin,
fear, death, lust. hate.
anything and everything adjacent
to violet highlights in calming sunsets,
a love for what can be despite what is.
inked by the growing bead in your chest
that pulsates when you dream of better,
more, the minimum. pure existence.
the bliss of firing off one round
of expression that might shift the world
and free you.
something you can't know
while others hold the jar and shake you.