i watch BoJack Horseman when i’m in a deep refracting depression. when vodka in a plastic water bottle is a vessel of glitter-rotting space, and i want to go on a bender faded, all supernova and decaying. when the TV turns on by itself and another episode plays, i don’t change the channel for hours. i’m stuck on the screen, its vortex of static, sucking me in all spiral-style. when my vision warps to the speed of light, paranoia strikes, and i diagnose the sounds my house makes at 4 AM, and i’m never going to sleep because i need to cycle through until i can’t feel again, until it ruins me. may this memory form to a void, where my hands are no longer hooves.
