You are so nonexistent.
Your lovely little girl smiles up at the craters of the moon.
Innocence in the hands of a shaking God.
The tango of a stillborn love on the spinoid of a silver thread.
Where our tangent bodies ionize into dust in the the cosmos.
And our meditative souls indulge in our sacrosanctities.
We are both cadavers now.
Silently inhale your spirit.
Slowly inhale my dispirit.
stagger your breath// all is lost\\ in the labyrinth// behind the curtain of red.
Strange, isn't it so strange? Perhaps I'm just a bit deranged, yet there still remains a stranger.
strange strange strange.
Tiny specimen, they crawled inside the esophogi
and inhibited all passage of passion.
Fragile hands, cradled ellipses, cloned ontologies
deliver distraction like birth.
They ask the universe for a single shared inhale.
Elongated Spines/Protoplasmic Shrines
Deliver distraction like birth.
Haunted by the spine.
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