Blown away.
Take a deep breath, take it on, take it in, let it fill you up and stretch you out. Feel full with life and lies and moments of rationality. I am here now, this thing is alive, I draw breath, I exist, I rot, but not now, in this moment so full of dreams and hot air I might just explode. A whole world of possibility until the walls come crashing down.
Now bring those pretty lips together, reach out with ache and need, waiting for flesh to meet flesh, pucker up to give life a kiss on the cheek. I’ll raise it up, and raise a glass, and catch what spills out. I’ll drink it down and coat my insides with the bits you lose. Now blow, blow baby, blow.
We don’t exist, we are ideas. We are wants, pathos, and screaming streaming madness, tuned into a reality we don’t fucking belong to, or in.
I went looking for truth and found it to be beautiful. We aren’t together, we’re never apart, we’re blowing bubbles and bad ideas, or just hot air into the world. It’s all meaningless garbage, but it sure is pretty.