The Crystal Ship

I woke up from nap sad, hurting and needy, almost newborn; angry, numb and fucked up; disoriented and senseless, empty as a Sunday evening; estranged from myself as a long time forgotten lover, stupefied as a dentist’s advice; an everlong repeated photocall of procrastination’s greatest hits, consciousness left on the table as ajar scissors; blurry images of wild forests avoiding the grasp of my will, escaping merely seconds after feeling the touch of an unshared reality, verges of sanity traded for just one more song, yet another drink; the dangerous urge to slowly slide the slimy spiral of slippery self-destruction, the bitter taste of talentless, tethered tatters on the tip of my tinfoil tongue, a longing for the reflection at the bottom of the well to grin back at me, swords staining plowshares with the blood of undying martyrs, riches torn to rags, dust to ashes, a clog where a heart should have been.

 

Número de familiares en el extranjero: 1. Brother, where art thou?

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