Amazingly dark, into her screams, aside his absence; seated near a sandcastle, eating dirt, looking at dearth.
They would if they could; to speak ethics, morals, we lived theology in God’s City.
They would silence hurting, making it normal, where a soul internalized it, expecting nothing different.
Amazingly dark, mentally surreal, epoch by its heritage; cull us from darkness, re-color color, so damned, so significant.
By power to find life. By too much familiarity to feel empty. By Love to rejoice.
He says his senses fooled him. I know that feeling.
If tamed inside, most delicate deaths, if untamed, most harsher deaths, deaths nonetheless.
I’ve sat in many rooms, bulbs flickering, seated where souls placed me; to hear oneself, this was motive, to stop thinking.
To bring life to its brink, to understand fear, to know self might destroy its carcass; by irony, the thinking entity, to unthink what
was thought. To rethink motivation, as realized in searching, to imagine what one was looking for;
an abstraction, made concrete inside, experience as fate, a subtle argument.
