One Of These Days,

and I would rip myself apart for you,

crack open my ribcage and let you

take whatever you wanted.

but you have been teaching me

that you do not need me to,

that I do not need me to.

we mourn the empirical fastenings

of those who came before

most now dead and buried in swill;

beheaded

as they had their time, so shall I

as they loved, so shall I

as they died in a thousand ways,

fractals spinning through space

through the human mind

eternally soaring in mist and

touching heaven for but a moment

before all, all is lost

and down they fall into the black

window of obscurity;

so shall I.

in dedication to summer rain and the smell of petrichor

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape

something is rotting.

the smell pervades the house, wafting through the halls, seeping under the doorframes.

it’s subtle at first. easy to ignore. i turn on a fan and soon enough I’ve gone noseblind.

it’s been three days. I found a little mouse dead on the floor. it’s small. too small.

the smell gets worse. the fan is on all the time now. I put perfume under my nose to block it out. eventually, I grow numb.

a week. there is no escaping it. I have looked everywhere. it has stained all my clothes. It is here, somewhere, the source of it.

it has been months. I cannot leave. I am weak. it affects me constantly.

something is rotting.

it is me. it has always been me.

so hold me on the way down,

and do me no harm,

i cause myself enough injury

from day to day, love

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

sometimes,

I fear,

I feel too much.

The sunset tonight.