ender

cryptic writings

esoteric arrays

the lord of doors

generated and gone in an instant

we are obsolete

are we obsolete?

it’s 2am and i’m still lying awake

with thoughts in one hand and feelings in the other.

how can i go to sleep with a head full of stars

and my face running away

up into the sky

looking for the moon?

i sit and stare out the window

stare out the window at the brown dead grass

the dirty snow melting into muddy slush

the mud that is criss-crossed and destroyed with ruts and tire tracks

my face is a cage

and the doves inside are suffocating

in a pile of their own shit

my arms are broken wings

and their featherless forms are useless

in the mud,

in the dirt,

in the silt,

in the pores of the earth,

with the worms,

the moles,

the bugs,

what is the meaning of it all, anywho?

is it part of some grand scheme, some astral plot

to make us whole again

some day far from now?

perhaps, on the contrary, there is nothing;

are we born simply to exist?