Phantom Limbs

I like the walk between worlds.
That place where we mesh heads with the mess, outside.

It likes us so far as it can kill.

How much have you got that's worth dying for?

These are the terms of longevity.

It peels you so soft.

Life sounds like a food processor,

Man made milk shakes, all of us.

We hate ourselves and digest our feet.

I remember, everyday, the way you forget.

There's something in that ghost, that carried us.