Lately, on most days, I think I must still be trapped in a lucid dream because the clouds look like they’ve been painted onto the sky.
Feel the weight of every star
Burning out, snuffed
Like candles, cold
And gray upon your chest.
This is only the beginning
Can someone tell me what
We have learned?
What lessons were to be
Taught by corpses - filed in cabinets
Alphabetically, their eyes
Dilated - except for which books
We are blind to; which songs
Make too never sing?
“This is our last chance for peace.”
“Fuck it.”
“Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.”
“Fuck you.”
Am I still dreaming?
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