bright skylights strike from sky-high, scintillating chaotically like
lightning while in the midst of 25 degrees fahrenheit, minus a blithe
humidity...
indigo pigment visible as the wind whips my lips and skims vivid blisters on bits of my fingertips...
mind taken to scathing and surfing a neuro-web of treacheries as hopeless bones
lie silently on piles of falsified turf, snow angels birthed as I watch and await
the latest vacancy of my latent demons...
I mean, what if Samara proceeded to squeeze from out of YOUR tv?
--
an avid autodidact with a superficial lack of reaction;
the result? brain beatings abound like a ball bouncing around in a bountiful round of
ungrounded jai-alai. but I never seemed to be too tired from high-tailing it for the
better part of my life; now, if I could just try to convince my mind to
retire into a bit of blissful hindsight...
--
until
I cease breathing I believe I'll keep living betwixt the sheet of a
dream; a place beneath the spaces allocated to the partaking of elated
awakenings; underneath spaces being waited on by beings with an innately
complex compilation of light beams and pieces of aether...
--
...and if i forget from time to time, please be kind enough to remind me that self-depreciation has no reason or rhyme...
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