(no subject)
I hit the sand and my hands are just like them, worn down. Meshed with flesh, I'm rooted. There's a cracked rock out there, but it is not that my eyes touch, but a bright fire. I find solace in the sunset. Although it must drop off the shelf of the earth, it stayed up for me, anyway. And it stayed. Its dance was in my crosshairs, my pupils peasants underneath the gleam. I could see myself in the light, indifferent. It moved and I moved. It traveled while I traveled, and like beams of light I hit the beams of light. Red-eyed and blind, I turned around to trek back, with its gaze on my eyes, and everywhere.