I don’t really know how to explain this one. It’s a bit of a doozy. I wrote this a couple days ago and it just sort of happened. Think surreal Lewis Carroll but really not. I can’t think if a way to describe what this is but you know, you should probably just read it.


Too many animals


I have been told that cold is simply the absence of heat.

I do not believe this.

It is undefinably its own beast.


The cold pricks and prods me with the flame tongued dog who licks at my cerebrum while the

thin and brittle yells and percussion try to hold them back.

Cold uses sheets of unease with carefully placed needles of unrest and pain peppering the skin to slowly draw the concept of time from your conscious being.

The blankets of unease cause me to shift and push the needles farther in.


All the while the flame tongued dog licks at my cerebrum.


I’d forgot the droning ones.

There’s two.


Bone and flesh.


One caused by me, one caused by the one outside of me who I can no longer see.


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