m.p.

the irony of the small tabletop water fountain is that the sound of trickling water is drowned out by the hum of its battery powered pump.

please help me, wind, how far can you throw your might into my body cursed to dimensions timeless and unknown. ripping all over my flesh burning, in repose no stopping, no resting, no telling how far that it goes

tip me over into the nether sever ties the silver tether this is the perfect storm. the weather will never be perfect for this or better.

please help me please help me or i'll never get there please help me i'll always be scared it doesnt matter what comfort is given i know my nightmare is breathing and living, please push me over into unknown topple my head from my shoulders have me unsown from this earth forsaken, forlorn, and disowned eternally left as found screaming, alone

please kill me, wind, how cold you blow. cut like a knife, but you never get through though. please push me toppling into waters below covering what's there for me to unfold it will hurt more than you would know but this is the end of all paths i could go