"How are you doing?"

I'm doing...

It feels like a starry night, and I'm in the audience; laying on the grass and gazing up. Suddenly, you feel so small and insignificant; like the tiniest speck of dirt on this rock. And you look up and lose track of time. Before you realize it, you're light years away, surfing on some star somewhere, watching a planet crumble. But at the same time you're still nestled in that same itchy, dampness, locked inside the four walls of your skull, with nowhere to go but inward.

So no, I'm not doing badly. I'm just feeling... galactic.

Bloodstream

I am

I

am

a tumor.


My head aches, but its not a headache. Its cranial pain, sharp and throbbing; thoughtful cringes. I can feel my blood pulse throughout the many tunnels of my body. The tunnels that transform into catacombs on no one's agenda but their own.

Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.

If you listen closely, past the white noise, you hear the red noise. And that is the sound of your existence. Ticking away at your life.

Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.

Canon fire. That's what it is.

Boom.

And there it goes.

I pity mountains
that rise from the earth
tall and mighty and breathless
nothing could compare to their stature
they hold their head so high above us all
the brave and the bold might traverse them
the adventurous might tap along their spine
but in the end all they've got is the sun
and even then the sun must say

goodbye