“she had long pale hands”

“she had long pale hands”

growing down into the dirt disappearing a slip of dark night over a garden wall is this my existence? where a generous creature was birthed as loneliness but I believe in nothing even the bombs that fell sweeping over my bed like a vast grey ocean of wet wet voices...
“a beautiful death”

“a beautiful death”

I could breathe to the sun in the shape of a heart I would still be shattered rolling in the ecstasy of my nothingness forgive me while I wander across this field looking for the end of suffering in a hollow pocket of the sickness that I call home the world is still...