Musing

Broken.

The vibration touches inside me. As it penetrates my eardrums.

Taking me to places I had thought I had never been.

Until I realised, I had.

Same places.

Same faces.

We’re stuck in this together.

You lick my finger.

It takes my mind off.

For the briefest of seconds.

I love you for that.

Why can’t that second last.

I take a step.

I fall.

You fall, with me.

Deep.

inside.

I’d paint into the evenings.

I forgot my brush.

I always do.

Ghosting is a passion fruit.

A so is time.

I suppose the rationale behind survival is that it is just what we do.

And yet so many were lost in our wake.

That alone makes our existence less than worthwhile, not even worthy.

Failing at our one task.

And so, billionaires sit in bunkers plotting how they are going to survive.

I think their missing the point.

I don’t think they know there is one.

How much can a parasite binge on before its own survival is in jeopardy.

So, who am I to even question the nature of reality.

When the one we were given, we fucked up.

Who wants houseguests that burned down their house.

They fear us. And they fear you more.

Whenever you read this. It will be in my future. And your present.

And knowledge, and machine will have crept forward.

Remember if they could cut your hands off, they would.

That ‘would’ could be ‘will’ if you just sit there.

Like I ever did something worthwhile.

Naked I came.

And so, did you.

Let’s shatter no illusions here.

And make no promises.