In the morning

That day was the marble rolling around the table edge. Child eyes. You in the false twilight, dew strewing your feet, you raked onto your bedposts behind the door as you would run past the old literature pages with your bad mind. With your poor wishes. Those people stood up alive and were pulsating through woodlands very vast and incredulously beautiful – a long ago – hitched with something as your blood swells up putridly. With days you were a thing very steeped into a past very swollen into a ditch I would hope for your excruciating mundaneness damned into the west with a stake, caked into the hard dust exposed. You could not neckless turn away from the open canopy swathing it’s dead tapestries above your eyes there were, after the years, dizzying you. In purgatorial spectation you stayed, and the grating lights, the impossible wound again and again into a very pitless-ly sad idea. How arduous was this whole process you heard rebounding again and again – arduous and absolutely > . Did you every think to yourself a thing like this? Are you really, certain. That you endured those thoughts grating through your head incessantly. Why the long road ongoing. That small person quavering unknowingly on the brink of life, looking into the immense unwinding straights trapped uncertainly there between the winds. Would you ever know who it would have been. And did you speak to yourself, ? Sometimes amidst the noise a thought or multiple thoughts. Was it to have some record of your presence. A record of unexpressed. Stamp feeble of something like an identity or just an expression when you were not able to express. Almost never, rarely. So then tell me, if you could be anywhere – if you could immerse your body and your dried up spirit into anything right now what would happen. Could you conjure into your bristling pores a feeling of like how you imagined the night. Feeling of like how you imaged closeness. Standing over a ditch into which there’s not going much light, now. Time dwindling, course. Would you linger onto the permanence, rushing against the sea tiringly. You had needed many people over the days like a person needs love and you feel it in your chest and running spikes over your forearms, exhilarating and you can’t. Reaching people as a mirage. White around your waist. Wasting away fast.