further sea
Only paper. Just about holding together, from all those tiny fibres clinging together the way things tend to when molecules are mushed up together, squashed into a square and then flattened. Fuel for fires. Fire for fuels. Take a lit flame to it and burn it to the ground. Take the ashes and charred discrete concrete, uncreated remains and jump. Plant both feet like steel in the dust and dirt, fly up as far as you can and throw all your weight into the landing.
Please.
Thank you.
So here we have patterns pitted and spattered into spherical shapes. From all points, distance ebbs away at the feet, spreading out in lakes and rivers, the lie of the land.
The land lies.
Its inhabitants lie for their lives. They run, they create, they destroy. They burn along the way. Suffocating with toxic gases, setting chemicals alight to burn further, to metamorphose into more chemicals. All a chemical reaction. To what? Maybe because it’s something to do. An innocent way to pass the time. Disconsolate desecration. You’d do anything just to survive. Just to stay alive.
We crash, we burn.
We fill those skies with suffocation.
We don’t mean to - it is all the byproduct of a life. Of surviving. Of creating new diversions in time.
Too much is never enough.
Too much time.
Too much substance.
Never enough is too much when time is of the substance…
You cast your eyes to the skies, to try and escape, run away. Time passes and the clouds in the soup above billow and fall. All you want to do is wish them toward you, to answer your call. A regular yell, a yelp, that there is more than this. There somehow, somewhere exists more, where nothing is more than everything, and there are no thoughts. No words. A haven, a peaceful, tiny island, surrounded by thick swirling water. Absolutely impenetrable, yet not to the one soul searching and wishing to be caught in that moment. That one endless moment.
maybe, it exists. just maybe.
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