EvilJunglist
Bluelighter
a few weeks ago, i was sick. very sick
i was taking mad nyquil, and seeing as that it isn't a normal occasion that i put a drug into my body... when i do.. the effects are rather.. interesting. i've got a lot of kinna nasty shit going on in my life right now, and i had the WEIRDEST dream while whacked out on mad nyquil. i tried my best to put it into words..
dave
The moon was a planet, just like earth, only it is even deader.
The pistols of its flowers are the only protection
Against insects, which were more preoccupied with the
Half-rotted inhabitants, soiled the the brim
under their own garments.
History tells us of their blood
Flowing down one leg and up the other.
Memories insoluble to their conscience,
Memories outside themselves in a twisted prank
Played upon them by dogs tired of chasing their food.
Thin oxygen curves their posture substantially.
Flashes of their purpose stripped to skeletal ornaments
Of resin from animal marks
Flicker over the loudscreen.
Machines hum quietly in the distance.
A few naive inhabitants wander foolishly after sundown
In search of black spots,
But noone leaves this moon carefree of memory.
Survivors often match their hands upward
Towards greater satellites,
Wronged in the eyes by a million miles
And a million more bodies to sift through.
The smaller creatures have the secret
To pinning us down to the dirt:
When they breathe, they inspire
When we breathe, we expire.
i was taking mad nyquil, and seeing as that it isn't a normal occasion that i put a drug into my body... when i do.. the effects are rather.. interesting. i've got a lot of kinna nasty shit going on in my life right now, and i had the WEIRDEST dream while whacked out on mad nyquil. i tried my best to put it into words..
dave
The moon was a planet, just like earth, only it is even deader.
The pistols of its flowers are the only protection
Against insects, which were more preoccupied with the
Half-rotted inhabitants, soiled the the brim
under their own garments.
History tells us of their blood
Flowing down one leg and up the other.
Memories insoluble to their conscience,
Memories outside themselves in a twisted prank
Played upon them by dogs tired of chasing their food.
Thin oxygen curves their posture substantially.
Flashes of their purpose stripped to skeletal ornaments
Of resin from animal marks
Flicker over the loudscreen.
Machines hum quietly in the distance.
A few naive inhabitants wander foolishly after sundown
In search of black spots,
But noone leaves this moon carefree of memory.
Survivors often match their hands upward
Towards greater satellites,
Wronged in the eyes by a million miles
And a million more bodies to sift through.
The smaller creatures have the secret
To pinning us down to the dirt:
When they breathe, they inspire
When we breathe, we expire.
