Feeling naked like suicide - skins, bones, flesh.
Blood runs deep and black it clots at places it shouldn't be found at.
Eyes peeled to the ceilings as it descends to touch the winter-like tips of my fingers.
Why such utterance of platitudes as if the moon is up hanging in my bedroom, when I can only watch nothing but air collide? Should I silently beg for my being to be swallowed into this illuminated wasteland instead?
Then my jaded soul would be a mishap to existence no more.
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