and so we dance, like leaves in a bonfire. swirling upward. riding the heat drafts towards the night sky. cinders and ash. a spark of humanity dances on the updraft and slowly descends toward the forest floor.
drifting and dreaming of setting all the fallen leaves ablaze, alight, aloft. circles within circles. too many for me to unravel underneath the ice of selecticide.
i open my eyes and stare at my reflection etched in the ice above me and i smile. if i could move, i would kiss myself awake. but i cant. im too tired. too rewired.
disconnected and uncorrected, i begin to drift through the cherry blossum rings. my orbit degrading. i am a burn out. i metaphor my life with cigarettes and that in itself seems to be enough art for me.
i remember everything. the stink of sex and the decay of love. the bleach breeze of the bathhouses and the mornings spent smelling the sheets trying to remember the name, the face, the distance that only love can disassemble.
i tremble at these thoughts. selecticide will save me from all of this. the star will open my eyes and cleanse my wounds and purge my soul.
i want to smell the crystal meth seeping from my pores again and the endless euphoria of best friends that i have just met. underneath the ice i squirm and dream. seamless and useless.
i dont like it here. i want to go back. i search silently for the curvature in time. if einstein was right, i should be there by my birthday. wish me luck.