Somber Physicist Does Drugs

In candlelight, I concentrate the dust of the eleven hidden dimensions. Anchoring a spectral hole to subsume all memories in the whirlwinds – aftermaths of the arsonist’s flaming hearts. The delta is a singularity of lowest degree, frozen in the space between the root and the past. Stars: bright fractions of time, expressing the simple truth of prostitutes. On a college bedroom, always the source is buzzing. These walls are electric, seething and seeping like radio wavelengths into alien synapses. Have we reached the singularity? I believe the pulse is simple. The rhythm of my heart, of my head, is the beginning and end of all that is. I don’t suppose the ghost has lead me here. I’ve been down and untouched for days. Miles of squares. The senses impaired until they crack into sighs. Substance to see into the soul. Heal me Heisenberg. I cannot guess the velocity of the bud’s burst. Roses express night harmonies on a journey to die. The ghoulish skies are sharp glass. They will eat us, like they did when we were babies.
“Have you thought about what comes out of your pores?”
“It comes out?”
“Yes. And the eclipse is cold too.”
“Tell me if you will return after we plunge into the mass of clouds in the infinite darkness.”
“Light, evolves, emerges.”
“Answer me.”
“The answer is no.”
Swallow my consciousness and don’t spit. The black tide at the shore. Stampedes of apathetic mornings once slightly ajar the doors. Miss the sunlight. Relieve the questions slit in the dark matter flesh crushing together galaxies. Dense is the energy between no skin and us. Poundless hearts weighed by whomever brings forth. It cannot love, press against the mountains and burn God at his throne. My time is digital and pathetic. How many gigabytes until survival? The meat is wired to implode in spacetime, the neutron stars clash like voids of meaninglessness. Ticking and spinning are the quantum particles in my hands, in my space. The nothingness of black. I run to limbo. After all, I run. Rust, rust, tongue and lie naked in the seven suns. Crack and feed the tendons to the reptiles.
Touch the shore of many hues. How original is heaven’s choir, booming in my virtual room. Creeping are her ticking echoes in our laptops. She wants to be let in. Trip the lives around you before their eyes and let her in. Crystalline becomes her form at the deceit of teardrops.
Wolves, bears, ninjas, enter eternity. The endless dimension where life cannot. Where suffering cannot. Distress relishes happiness. But the next moment is not birth. Acute insults are words, their meanings swim in mindspace, captives of a cosmic cell. Filled like digital shadows, we zip, bang, stretch up to stained-glass pillars. Quantify the breath of a child. The universe has meaning but I would ask, and not answer. Millions of wings whisper burning lullabies, changing the world. Aching from the dream, I see no world, no reason to step forward. The hollow inside of my mind struggles to thread the doorways I despise. Hurry mother, I’m confused.

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