by August 18, 2017 0 comments

No time and no order and no body and no eyes
With which to understand the self, perfect
Psychopaths, forgiven because we were closest
To God, we did not look
Back towards the water where we came from, we will go back
When we tire of of blood and tattoos and the smell, Sharpies making notes of everything
Our old burning eyes fear about the future, a feeling
We do not reconcile by talking to each other, only feeling things
We cannot explain, the way we move through these nights
Like two pieces of water together, in an orbit
That we never thought about, or any of these things
When we were children, destined to collide and explode slower than a Phantom bullet camera can see

In this vacuum of space, fire
Voice and blood can never exist together

editors note:

Another start from the end. – mh clay

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