ancient ritual

fear of heroin on a cold night under a post. everything is too sharp, insect noises from inside my body out to the city with insect wings flapping in the darkness, try to eat the world with sounds of metal falling in an insect graveyard. i bend trembling under the weight of the universe like a branch being broken by a 6 year old obsesive-compulsive-tv/raised kid. my eyes do not close, my lungs do not scream and i become a living dead puppet. i do not think, i am the only proyector supporting the image, i become the one and only god and ensalved by myself my trembling calls for ancient rituals in which insects burn in midair and turn to stone and ashes and are eaten by hungry god/proyectors in midair under a heroin post. cold string of thoughts frozen before me, there are no witnesses through the lack of time and space. through eternity. i will face death shortly and aknowledge myself.