a sense of self

[Sepia]

I remembered. The ghosts of death that I see, these ghosts that I breathe, lingering, demons of scent. Pour me a heart, let me become dream in this, let me see these ghosts that fill my dreaming life, out there on the streets where the street-walkers walk in silence, sleeping and dreaming, dreaming a better world they can cope in, something else than this, a different idea than this as we turn again and again onto the same lanes, the same streets we flit through as we wait for death/life/hope/love/rebirth as we wait for mistress' boots to shine in perfection and we gaze into the darkest of mirrors and what we see reflected is pink filled with hearts giffing along and we make the ahegao face as they do now because real life isn't enough, we've spent it and used it as we've seen it through our monitors and as we've seen it through our screens but we need something more and we look for something more as the chorus fills our ears the bold chorus of bold men and bold women climbing the highest esoteric peaks where they're sniffing the cremated remains of junkies, wanking to porn none have ever seen and they look with jealousy upon those that have reached nirvana, ascended and become a part of the void flatlining the moment before the comey, a ruined orgasm marking their sacrifice pumping the future out steadily in streams, a river of semen trickling through, trickling down on kissinger himself as he raises his glass of cum and drinks it and the crowd gives a polite applause until kissingers weaponized black sperm tries to kill anything with an uterus and man himself is reborn, quoting Conan