There Are Flat Earthers On The Tv // 16.01.2025

There are flat earthers on the TV and I'm fading in and out. The stars are a clock and I count them in my head until my lungs are polluted with constellations. All I can do is breathe, feel them spin in my throat. My wrists hang limp over the side of the sofa; magnetic declaration, geocentric distortion, some sort of heaven. The words drag themselves across the walls and I still see them when I close my eyes. Is this the final experiment? Is this the end for me? I don't know, at this point I'm more focused on keeping myself breathing. I'm lying dead on a hill of my own making, and god, the foxes outside are screaming like hell, but nobody even raises their head. There are flat earthers on the TV and a dead hound in the living room, and I'm fading in and out.

there are flat earthers on the tv // 16.01.2025

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writeblr writing i dont know poetry poem original poem rumos poetry

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