Sad Labels:
loneliness
,
suicide
The ceremony is not in the act. It's in the violation. Warm schism elongates the fetid paths. She grabbed her spare levers and stroked the motor hot. Calling it knowledge.
drugging the future with needles from the past.
Shifting the mirrors. The words all in reverse. I've been. She coughed. Seeing when. A grim layer of animation. Flushing her back into the center of the desert. Thirsty, she gulps the sand.
the timeline surges. In ripples of skin. We arrive. Here again. Wherever that is. With sand in our underwear. And no shoes on our feet. Counting. Still trying to determine. How many places we've been.
To prove the future is real.
They bite. Leaving only the itch behind.