God damn. God damn. God damn.

I sink beneath the hands in surrender

Obliteration pleasure

In the miasma of winter

Things look binary

And all my nerves are silver with want.

My mouth is anxious, and I look stupidly

At momentary walls crashing into me

In a shower of split-second guilt that pools

Like feet beneath me.

I do expect the world to conform to my insecurities

Simply by providing weak points

Reality finds the path of least

Resistance through,

This is axiomatic.