Yesterday slips through my fingers and is carried away by the wind to a place I can only surmise is happier than here. Here. Here I sit in an empty room on a piss stained mattress staring off into oblivion as poison flows through my veins. Here I sit with numb calloused lips burnt and quivering as my eyes roll back into my head trapped in the rapture - eyes half closed like an angel in a Caravaggio.
Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein.
I’m not an angel, God would never take me. I’m not an angel, but I have fallen from considerable heights into the deepest abysmal depths. I live for the high and nothing more. I am gebbeth. Hollow. Dead.
1 comment:
This was so good.
I miss you.
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