Floating on a river of corpses,
The howls of my ancestors reverberate through the air ducts
As I inhale the dreams of all those who slept before me.
They smell like gasoline.
Smoke gorges the velvet throat,
Pupils dilate, conjunctivas evaporate,
Ghost children giggle in the hallway
Incognizant of the flames engulfing the building.
The birds talk dirty to the gods,
Defecating acid and scorching the earth.
The water supply is tainted, the air you breathe is poison,
And the hourglass has been trampled under foot.
Tiny shards of glass implanted in the heel,
Sands of time travel like pale riders on the back of the wind’s cold gale.
Nothing left to do but choke on memories length-wise
Not of better times, but of better mind
For it is not the memories you miss.
The time to move is now.
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