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1. |
Inclement
06:18
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What was claustrophobically hot was now just poor inclement. What was a gleaming past was now an omniscient and corroded future. The sky was like the surface of the Moon. There were patches of what could’ve been craters, but were instead just holes in the sky. There was no light coming through them, just holes. The spit-out rainwater brushed against [no one]’s feet. Like a jazz drum playing on the on-beat, or a shoe shiner tidying up what was already clean. [No one] rubbed [no one]’s boots against the ground. It almost made [no one] slip and [no one] landed on the blue spotted platform that was supposed to only be stood on when the train was already there. [No one] could’ve fallen to [no one]’s death on those electrified spires below. [No one] was fine. Not happy, not a light cigarette on an afternoon with no one around with infinite coughs but a cat that had already eaten and was about to drift off to sleep.
The train came. [Everyone] got off. [No one] got on. [Everyone] didn’t stare. [Everyone] looked at [everyone]selves through the slightly stained (although just because of the rain) glass half-mirrors-half-windows. The landscape through the window was quite precious despite being probably unpleasant to most. Again, the Moon-sky lingered. Its grey and dim presence still haunting. The train was not very fast. It stopped several times, maintenance issues. Another loose gally. Another several suicides smelled. Another lie told and another handshake shook. It was a bit too much for [no one].
The train was still going. It did not have a schedule. In fact, it was turning around. [No one] punched [no one]’s own fist to pass the time. Playing games with stick-fingers. Watching planes through the window. Planes are flying awfully close today. What is this train doing? Planes are flying awfully close today.
[No one] stood up. [No one] felt the weight of the train against [no one]’s own lingering body. It was time to get off. No it wasn’t. [No one] sat back down. Not yet. [No one] can’t let this pass yet. Savor the moment, it’s calm even if [no one] is scared. Look back at the window. Play more nonsense games. Why is [everyone] staring? It’s not because of the wardrobe, is it? What ever. Games are still on. Planes are still close. Suicides are sensed and hands are taken off of arms.
[No one] fell on the floor of the train. Bleed. Bleed like never before. [No one]’s head was leaking. Hurt more. [No one] got back up and fell down again. [Everyone] stared. [No one] decided it was time to get off this hell ride. The train had stopped. The doors opened. And then they closed. The train kept going. At this moment [no one] realized that the moment really just had to be seized. There was no escaping it. Savor it all. It doesn’t matter. Take in whatever forced atmosphere is upon [no one]. Discover that the atmosphere concealed here is shallow. Put it all down.
[No one] realized it was time for a makeover. Planes flying awfully low today. Punched a fist. Suicide smell from a restaurant and the lie was big. Handshakes still made. The on-beat was playing the off-beat. The holes in the sky had disappeared. The Moon was off the atmosphere. Got off the train. Walked away. Where does [no one] go? It’s still cold, still dreary… where is [no one]? [No one] is still on the train. [Everyone] is still on the train. Getting off was meaningless. It is time for the planes to crash and for the suicides to become homicides. It is time for the train tracks to rust. The train turns around and [no one] still falls down.
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2. |
Clusters of My Failure
05:28
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3. |
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4. |
Last Selfs
04:25
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i sat alone on a nightmare rock
dwindling figures I see stalking the night
It grows cold, and with my blade at my side
the height of my figure grows only with size
I grasp the sword from beside the stone
and into the forest I am blown
searching for eternal life
but in eternal struggle is there not already eternal life?
a plight of an artist
their true shadow only a ghost in the reflection of the microwave
for all to see, scared and alone
transparent and fading
the artist changing its own second self
as the dawn sets in, with my sword at my side
i greet my second self, its eyes still alive
looking back at its appearance, some changes have been made
the imperfections and mistakes have begun to fade
but in this perfect reflection, there is no soul in its body
it just stares like another replica of its own self
stepping back, realizing the eternal struggle was not justified
i obliterate the second self, now more accurately the third self
it is no more, and soon i will forget
and my struggle will continue, and i will still sweat
for the day i will die, i will never cease to imagine
a third self staring back at me
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5. |
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I don't get it
I don't know
I should leave
Even though there's a plan
You know what it is
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funnnn.png Chicago, Illinois
electronic messing
by desi
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