Broken Mysteries

Oh, sinkhole.

What has life become?

Once, a flowery wisp of smoke caressing my lips while I slept in dreamy oblivion.

Awake and charred, broken and boldly breathing.

May this dawn bring a new recovery.

Another finished bottle of unhinged madness.

a broken colourful sandbox with crystals purple in green.

dissolve in my shrunken head.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

When everything’s broken. what can you find, yet again.

what can you find, yet again.

repetitive motion. actions and motives.

left right and center. while the collective conscious static ever-burning.

How many fires I daresay, should burn before I find fresh water anew.

it’s a broken mystery.