Tattered

“An invisible eye rests facing the inside of my stomach, and everywhere I look I see fate.
When familiar places become ancient and new, nothing is left untouched to divinity..
nothing touching nothing, and darkness glaring into darkness.”


There was a cold morning with a pale blue sky, red and orange blood-splatter from the fight the night before. Bitter winds and a park full of trash sleeping at the edge of a broken world. The adjectives eat away at the noun; cliffs steep to the thin barrier of fear that reaches long past corners ignorant of each other. A dark piece of lore with a smiling human face reaches its bony hands out from the haze.

It spoke once before charging into oblivion.

Well some things are tattered,
but they go ahead and fly anyway.

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