Run outside, you’re dying anyhow
tear your muscles from the back of the apparent hand
when you’re staring at the sun, it’s hard to flinch
Your dancing god will smite everything
and the jewels will cut your feet
as you stride across the floor
strewn with the blood of love and hate
strewn worse yet with the glance of apathy
Ouroboros of well-planned mediocrity
and look now, it’s midnight.
a collection of poems and thoughts 