now everything is dusty & the passing conversations about love from the windowsill remain unrelatable. passively lying about vacationing to seattle in the winter-times. the bar is set higher for standards of secrecy. lonesome pathways intersect & overlap across the hillside then disappear with separate soundtracks. my slingshot trajectory has thrown me into the dark. i can’t see the sunset from home anymore, but i swear i saw venus through the haze last night. maybe our souls become objects in space after we leave this prison. the good ones form the stars. evil becomes a planet humans could inhabit.
fucked my wrist trying to fix my broken back. the sky darkens & saturates into a blue i wish i could paint. consequences of age now exist in the breaths we hold for seconds, minutes—unconcerned that time is illusory but still pushes us toward death with the darkness above. i dried up the day my options did too. they say a light is just around the corner, but i’ve been running my whole life & have yet to find the turn.