14 2 2017 Valentines Day
(D)eath (M)agick (T)hread
DMT is your other eye, some say pineal gland.
Why do I write? Im not in control of this. One eyed crow moves my bleeding hands.
Another virtual world and some friend photons. Does real even exist?
Suspended on a dark framework. I dissect and draw from cold astral space. Diagrams. Symbols. Connections. Constellation of the mind.
She is gone. Not one earthly body did she embody to fit with me. She turned me into a mummy and gave me a comfortable tomb. And pain I could not endure.
This dead end seems like the only constant. I speak for the past and now. Everything gone. All but imaginary world lines branching into different infinities.
I dont want to die because I have died.