I still see it, leaning on the air,
drifting into a blood fog.
Spilling down on to the streets,
it fills my mind with smoke.
And since then the world gets darker
the further on I go,
living in the shadow of some fallen cloud,
the weight of the world,
the shape and the sound of...
10,000 frames per second flowing through the screen,
giving definition to something vaguely out of reach.
Like nothing in this life,
like I was born to die so that you could see it,
crowded around at the center of town,
blood on my mouth belongs to someone else.
I am getting older now,
the violence is in a landfill or underground.
Now I am just standing in the desert
next to the ghost of who I have just killed.
The burial mound is empty,
somehow it shakes beneath my feet,
still I see a corpse in everything,
in my friendships and in my sleep.
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