Permanent Scar
March 28th. 2022.
O, to paint the hues of the sun! Yet the hole in the sky swallows every shade of touch. Linger longer still Sweet Nothingness, I am yet done. Stay aside this fireplace blanket and hold me tender, soft. O, to paint the hues of the sun! Yet mine thoughts return'd: Pretentious limbic process. Thirsting, thirsting, thirsting, from whence nothing has no heart. Sweet Nothingness, burn my retina, Sear the cornea, eyestalks ablaze I beg unto thee, let me lie still.
RYNE CLARKE 