Smother, suffer, succumb.
Lying in the snow drifts of my mind.
Covered in nothing and everything,
The weight of the world in it’s translucent sky.
Pushing down like an avalanche on me.
This is the truck stop of those dreams.
A terminus for the lonely, eager to get away.
I climb aboard my own tiger.
Push through the fog of souls who cling to that static.
Saving up for someday, though someday will never be.
Sprint, spring, survive.
Bursting out of the undergrowth, away from the desert.
Shaking the sand and the sadness from my existential shoe.
Everything will be okay.
I never had it all this time.
As the hand of the clock smacks my skin.
Bruising and bursting the flesh to find a way inside.
Reminders crawling underneath of a now, of a moment.
Which is all we really have.
I hold my breath, count to ten.
Throw away the screens and keep only what is needed.
Place soil in my pockets, so I’m closer to the ground.
Tears in my eyes, so the sea swells inside me.
A return to a place which spat out these bones.
The womb of the world, ground and the sky.
Strung up between the two, as the old me dies.
Havoc and Consequence 