goldshroom

climbing out the rift between fiction and reality; birth of the anthropocene, chasing immortality playing out a bad hand; a house of cards, the fall of man buying out the Promised Land; ten thousand yards, full of quicksand sink into another realm, depressed and disillusioned-- the state of overwhelm, a capitol of confusion

disconnected, disjointed, disabled. discontented, disrupted, dissembled. we- irrelevant and obsolete simply- inelegant and incomplete don’t know. unaccepted, unadapted, unprepared for a trip to the other side. unrecorded, uninspired, unheeded for a chance to be edified. now do we truly want to play a game we can’t see through? ... we, simply, don’t know.

 Rain splashed at the wide window. Lightning flashed, brightening up the office, showing the silhouette of a man. Footsteps soon followed, indicated only by the slight vibrations in the floor, since the raging storm drowned out all noise. Another flash. This time, the man was much closer, and appeared to be heading toward the door. He may have seen me in the flash, though I doubt he could make out my features any more than I could see his, and instead he merely knew that the safest option was to escape from the mysterious intruder while he still had the chance. The door opened, and light trickled into the room. I saw his face, old and wri

underneath the siren's spell trapped inside a prison cell living life a hollow shell every night I fear the lies that I have told fear my body growing old fear my blood is running cold every night I feel like I'm bound to die letting out a silent cry and through the lens of my mind's eye stars are holes punched through the sky always asking why why why every night I fear bottom of the wishing well near the tolling funeral bell I build my own mental hell every night I put the same song on repeat put the same song on repeat put the same song on repeat chorus my own insomnia my nyctophobia call it phobophobia irrational I know but