Everything is starless.
What hand claps count the silent syllables.
How easily the sentiment of humanity leaves itself
in ghast emissions. This dust, now, remarking at itself.
But now, how words misspell out of me in grey, phosphorescent gestures.
All lights bend from me.
If they had heads they would turn away, ashamed.
Everyone is quiet in the darkness.
This infinite moment has stolen the lungs from me.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Everything is starless.
What hand claps count the silent syllables.
How easily the sentiment of humanity leaves itself
in ghast emissions. This dust, now, remarking at itself.
But now, how words misspell out of me in grey, phosphorescent gestures.
All lights bend from me.
If they had heads they would turn away, ashamed.
Everyone is quiet in the darkness.
This infinite moment has stolen the lungs from me.
