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sentences rain themselves from opaquely shifting thoughts:

can i say the words i mean when those i do push us away?

the blankness of the now, our wordless prose:

spoken like elegies for a burial where you arose.

no, just stay, lay here with me. you know i didn't mean it,

you know meaning is subjective. you're no angel,

you know we are both ending up in hell tonight.

I just want something tangible, something to make this real.

more than your cold skin, more than tin, ghosted words.

more than breaking foundations - watch me as i fall apart -

watch the image disassemble shifting from thought to thought.

what do my words mean if i don’t mean them?

i mean this: nothing means a thing to me.

when reality is your dead body I search for fillers.

I search for theater in the mind acting morality.

I search myself for the inner visions. I search in lack of purpose.

Serve this sentence’s reign. Hell elects to burn a slow ceasing.

Ceaselessly in search of smothering.

I’ll carry the coals like the cobwebs within.