my lungs weaken as my arms shroud my neck
it sees me as I dig myself into comfort
as I find myself in solace
it grabs my wrists from behind me
blindsided
pulls the wind from my cells
I crawl inside my eyes
black captures my surroundings

a tunnel of fog and glazed pupils

My soul is starving.
to death to death to death.

Somebody
walk me to the store.

It's four in the morning
it's not as cold
as it should be.

I realized resistance
weighs you down &
you sink into "the ****;"
you don't need to be
the current or
go with the flow
just try floating
for survival so
you don't drown.

My head is flooded with
thoughts & doubts & worries
about nothing.
The eye of the storm
looks like yours which
looks like mine.

Like you could tell
we're dead inside

we're ever-expanding
supernova
egotistical suicide
exploding in the night
& fizzling to a spark
that's a spark because
they said it's a spark.
& everyone nods.

Live for awkward silence
or die alone complacent.

commonplace

dreams do not chase themselves,
you, or anyone else.
this realm is not that special.

you should know
I've never been so comfortable.
it's making me uneasy.

this kind of greed
is completely fine with me.

chaos. neat.

what drifts between the mired lines of fate and dreams sets free the sorrowed wakening of the harrowed heart.

in cold rapture, time stands still with every word exposed and seen through touching, gazing eyes

each moment gone before begets the forward, eternal march unto dawn

the good bestows lawful effortless bounty of what was always meant to be

two hearts beckon upon each other in torment and rapture, anxiously seething one another

patience values the faithful wrought with time and humbleness