“This World isn’t Real”


Fingers are Jazz dancing with

radiant pulses pulsing

a warm, smooth etheric liquid across my neck.

Let us play beyond the layers of self-masochism beyond the beyond.

My focus is your focus. Can you stand to be this focused?

Can we gaze into each other’s eyes until doubt, anger and grief purge themselves out of our fists or my voice or our feet?

Can we dance on the halls of my anxiety, or run as fast as we can?

I think I might be done here, for my walls are closing in.


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