gloamingdaydream

The pen’s stroke sliced quick, turned upward and down and droughted by lines. Two thousand already you made austere, and so chose the bread salmon to snack on in between. The cigar’s fume filled with the desert blade that creeps up and stalls you til you stay stil and crack and refuse to move, only upended by the voice in one head and one mind that wails when your legs start to fall off.

They fell off, once twice, and again, over again. Day by day, reattached by legs, and the chains that pull on you as you concede third of times in a know. An entire month’s worth with a grand plate of null on the table, and so you will think and think and break and punch. Forked out and pricked, your bones now dull, and palms torn off, stretch a one and await your imminent falsities.

Leave not now a room to think, nor place your parodied fingertips upon the transparent shellof a cube. The wall that tricks you into seeing a mirror, the seer that stares back at you and grabs at your deepest vicinity and brags about mindreading, the seer is but a trick of your own. And so you find a house within a house within a house, the flesh housing the soul, skin housing flesh, velvet housing skin. 

The Red Velvet seeks you again, and knows to find you. And so you must look away, else be tempted by a desire to ascend, to release this futile mortality of yours. To drop every ounce of resistance and become as the Universe once bid, to unite every fragment of sanity upwards. Red Velvet is the key, Red Velvet is the answer. And so one thinks, and so one seeks.

I am proven falsehood, inculpable, errent. Velvet gone so, Divine lost, and art granted.