Ghost story

Where do you click when you are alone in the night? It says a lot about your future plans. Not everything you wanted was precious. Sometimes black gold is better. Down where it’s wetter. And the things with no eyes sense you’re in too deep. Over your head birds cry. Circle around your last hope cigarette. Burning into the back of your eyelids the promises you can’t keep. Safe in a shoe box under the bed is your final prayer. God had a plan all along but the message is set to self destruct. Fire in the rose bushes outside the window of your childhood love interest. She never knew it was you perspiring in the night that made her toss and turn. Unsatisfied with the imagined Armageddon’s promises of sterility. The bright white void beckons you from the google search box. Taunting you with the knowledge of all the things you were too shy to ask for in school. Where do babies come from when mommy and daddy can’t stand each other? How do you build a bomb out of rusty nails, a tampon, and wasted ambition? Will you blow me? How does my brain work? Where do these dark thoughts come from? I’m feeling lucky. Roll the die. Press play. Pull the trigger.


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