Existence 

by living-glass

I am strewn all over the soil, my head in ruins —

My face is shoved right into the core of the deepest end of jolting, glacial water;

My eyes are open, sore wounds as my corneas are set ablaze;

My neck is a block of vacuum that can’t unlock the tight hinges on its joints; 

My feet are peeling off on the edges of my veins, while my hands intertwined around the gaping holes of a bleak fantasy;

My lungs are strangled in increasing pressure with every breath of reality I inhale; 

My heart is skewered with the blunted end of a bayonet, sufficient to allow rays of venomous light to strike the walls of the organ; 

I am strewn all over the soil —
And I feel alive

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