gloamingdaydream

So slow, held and brought. The blocks of white turning gory red, that’s not supposed to happen.

I stabbed it with an icicle, the sharp edge pricked my finger and now it’s bleeding all over my sheets.I need a break here now. The rest of it all’s tossed up into the washer, gotta wait again for another turn.

I put on the game, they’re down by forty, kill em all. Streetlights over spotlights, they said. Only now the spotlights on them, cheating bastards. Kill em all.

Am I blind or blurry? Unfocused, illl and bluzzy.

Hours are dead now, no time and space to breathe my thoughts into the air, it’s been infiltrated by micro inorganic nonlifeforms.
“Forms” is giving it too much credit, it’s a large puddle of nothing, pure hypnosis, unfiltered and unruminated. Our cells were the test subjects, now the experiment seems to stand on its own two legs. Only seems, the key word. What’s not alive can’t stand. What seems like a whisper exists all day, so I drown it out with sound. I bury it underneath a pile of static. Now’s the static overtaken me, but it’s better to live with static than with that sad excuse of a copy of half a quarter of one percent of a clone of an attempt at being.

Only now, I’ve realized sound is not its only weakness. Words kill it too. Combine them both, and you build a wall. Wait for it to die out. IT will die out eventually, they all do. Starved from lack of engagement.