sentences rain themselves from opaquely shifting thoughts: can i say the words i mean when those i do push us away? the blankness of the now, our wordless prose: spoken like elegies for a burial where you arose. no, just stay, lay here with me. you know i didn't mean it, you know meaning is subjective. you're no angel, you know we are both ending up in hell tonight. I just want something tangible, something to make this real. more than your cold skin, more than tin, ghosted words. more than breaking foundations - watch me as i fall apart - watch the image disassemble shifting from thought to thought. what do my words mean if i don’t mean them? i mean this: nothing means a thing to me. when reality is your dead body I search for fillers. I search for theater in the mind acting morality. I search myself for the inner visions. I search in lack of purpose. Serve this sentence’s reign. Hell elects to burn a slow ceasing. Ceaselessly in search of smothering. I’ll carry the coals like the cobwebs within.