I couldn’t tell you where this ink is leading.
Truth be told,
I’m scared stiff
(see: paralyzed) shitless,
Waiting for the hot brand of
Animalistic tendencies to lead me to strange fruit
And off the oceanic concept of islands entirely.
My life is on the line of words I’ve flung upon the marble exterior of existence’s mausoleums.
You may have your name in lights for awhile but mine is etched forever
On countless gravestones -
every death is another birth
And for seventeen years I’ve been digging a massive grave,
Into which I will saunter