I've been existing,
Co-existing
And non-existing.

Theres a smell of blood I get when eating pieces of myself.
Savouring them for later.
Unable to begin or end I cannot stay or leave as always-

Intended because my skin crawls abnormally.
Though anti-gravity possesed each piece in essence
Theres a sickness in that I do agree.

But benevolence is seldomn here
Anymore, and sanity is long bereaved
I am merely stone holding onto fragments of thinner things.

Breathing phosphate, I apologise for the wings
That were sewn together out of spite.
I've cracked legs to be here.
Listening to those sounds that connect my emotions to my understanding became relief becomes...
More angry than you know, like a whisper in the snow
I drift--