My encounters with the void are frequent and brief.
Each time, it microwaves my ice cream brain for a few seconds, takes a spoonful, and places me back in the freezer to resolidify.
I feel better after I get sick as if my body reminds my brain that it is small, dumb, and insignificant while paradoxically trusting it as a navigation system.
I should get wasted and quit my jobs and do anything that is actually anything and maybe I won't be a shell and maybe I'll move along or maybe that'll be enough to die right there and maybe that's okay.
If so, I hope the microwave breaks and it drinks me in like soup.
No comments:
Post a Comment