(no subject)
Is this the edge of language? Love me, quickly, before I've gone. I want to be spun into this memory; become it. My belief in this existence finds me blind for years on end, until I unthink myself, forgotten, unprofessed and undivined- a smiling crystal buddha with a glass eye open, ringing out, unmoved and unmoving. Threadbare habits, falling away, letting go in hunger- all painted onto the wait, intricately keyed and dusty traps attending.
This is quickening, skin flushed, breath-taken, in, eyes close, slowly out... What's rung? What's rung?! I'm awake! Cut open, running red and warm. Love me, quickly! In moments, I'll set and become that translucent thing again, that creature, suspended, in a crystal torpor.
This is quickening, skin flushed, breath-taken, in, eyes close, slowly out... What's rung? What's rung?! I'm awake! Cut open, running red and warm. Love me, quickly! In moments, I'll set and become that translucent thing again, that creature, suspended, in a crystal torpor.