It is a chamber pressed against your temple,
the drag of your longest finger as it slips from the cliff. It is the sun falling, blood spilling, time burning. It is disintegration, explosion, the end. It is, not in the distance, not coming in time, not arriving. It is here. Your reality is relative. Time is a label, as comfortable sounding as religion. It is happening at once, and you are experiencing the strongest pain you have felt, the most beaming smiles you have given, the most everlasting orgasm you have had, the memories you are attempting to erase, right now. It, is life. Do not be scared, love. Life, can die too. You have a world to speak to, a world to give to. Stop smoking the cigarette of restraint, of spiritual suppression, of second guessing, of distraction. You, are killing life. The world, is after you. It is screaming, that you are not worth what you desire. Prove them wrong, love. Life, is there for you. Life, loves you. Do not murder your admirers. Make them proud, because the truth is, the gun may fire, you may slip, the sun may fall, and you cannot do anything about it. The truth, is life, and life, is you. Do not waste it, become it, be it, desire it. It is, a dream, that does not end, unless you destroy it.
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AuthorDaniel Buccafusca Archives
May 2021
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