(no subject)
You're fading as the dead follicles enhance our ability to perceive you, offer a wistful prayer, sewing the carpet. A dawdling rain of explanted stalks, a measureless hope that new life might spring forth in the living room, curling upwards amongst cottony filaments, fighting gravity, lacking the photoreceptors to dictate a course to the sun.
The audience has diminished now. Those who've held to their reservation await your retraction, the one chance to see the host severed from its parasite. We'll bury the host, cast the parasite into the ocean, complete its transformation into itself, pleading with creation that this belief holds true. That one day we too may irrevocably cleanse ourselves of the quantum.
A collapse, infinitely, into the sea.
The audience has diminished now. Those who've held to their reservation await your retraction, the one chance to see the host severed from its parasite. We'll bury the host, cast the parasite into the ocean, complete its transformation into itself, pleading with creation that this belief holds true. That one day we too may irrevocably cleanse ourselves of the quantum.
A collapse, infinitely, into the sea.