straysmix

ascending harp arpeggio murasaki accumulating between all of us remaining an anchor no matter what, covered in flies no matter which room i sit in, give me God now, real concrete, the crescents left in my palms by my nails feeling like the end times all the time numb to beauty not paired with a gimmick, ascending harp arpeggio buttery blue brickbuildingdarkwood warm house and the real alive tangibility of walking up stairs gone forever, the way it once exuded enclosure, life’s ostensible lack of meaning colliding so violently with the leaves scattering and falling as their pre-linguistic reassurance and comfort wield an authority so equal to that of the opposing lack that you can only fall down screaming like someone surrounded by the exploding bombs of two warring factions so much larger than yourself