I’ve thought it out, I’d assume, so decently lost. Violent flogging, steep in lowness, seeing a shoulder, eyes, & a smile. So natural, to hear it, so normalized, so outrageous. Keeping pain company, not out of pride, it just feels like life. You came to me, a feeling by design, we spoke in undercurrents. It means what it means. It’s super to correlate an emotion. Blue-green water, starfish, a little island far away—trying to capture infinity. Clutching life, coming by guts, a nation in limbo. (We play a game, we pretend we see, and we pretend what we see is false.) Like foolish people. I’ll never absorb it as it’s imagined. It doesn’t exist. With life becoming ideals. With disappointments driving stability. With life becoming letters. I’ve thought it out. I’ll never touch you, forced to endure you—life as it strikes. Upon a lily, water bees, locusts, a city of beliefs—to die forever, to live a day, coming out of seeds. Never to see it. Fraught by it. Trying to exist by something else; too much forbidden, too great an infraction, with souls in a complex. Can’t go low alone. Can’t rise high alone. We specialize in needing what causes a little rain. Out of greed to desire entirely—a spirit as it screams, clawing gods, evoking paradise.
