It's only a cold I tell myself.
I won't die.
I won't have to go the
Big white place where they
Stick needles in me and
Make me poop in a pan.
How did I get here,
So far from my heart.
The flame in my soul,
Once burning so bright
Now struggles to survive
In the dark of night.
All the raging places are gone,
the unattainable places,
except for the death of my friends.
I always want to remember
the violation I feel at
reality’s relentlessness,
From VIKTOR WISE. . .
The putrid smell,
eyes bloodshot red.
I fear a monster near.