but not sad


speechless. words like kites, floating and unimportant. joy surrounding like music but with no air in my lungs there is no song to speak of on my lips. if i slept through a thousand days and nights nothing would change but the rent i am owing? am i turning into overcast? have i been leaking? oh, what a luxurious wail to swallow and ooze. we both can agree it is gross, it is me, and if i was to drop on my head in a forest, then i would make a sound, certainly. to lure in the earthworms, to make me their feast. let them toast in delight to the delicious rot that has dropped onto their dirt and dust-filled plates. just let them indulge, let them eat me, for the best parts have already left to wander the dark beyond the sky.