dot

I am but a dying whimper fashioned in a facade of a body. conducted amongst the smog of being, trails left in the winter skies of july, a cloud loosing shape. infected by the loss of friends, solitude's angel. whisp of a beaten neglect carried amongst my chest, trapped beneath this shroud of sporadic particles quickly fading back to cosmic dust. shattered star pattern, timing has never been a good friend. I clink glasses and cheer disintegrating moments as I know they'll never be the same again. half-smile, camoflauge enjoyment as I breathe in deep the indigo winds. shattered plates scar my feet as i follow no path, drowned out by the macabre light my lenses can only find, stale monotony in my monogomous death. drill bits awake me from the sweat drenched bed sheets and i clamour to ignore the transiency of this waking fall some call life. taken aback, sore infections speak of the bloody gash i call my face. head trauma. thoughts.