Sometimes life just grinds you up so that all the coping mechanisms in the world would still make a sane person snap, and there's nothing that you can do but get processed into a pulp and get recycled back into a semi-renewed blank paper stack.

It's a rough tabula rasa embedded with bumps of trauma where you can write out your own happy ending with a quill dipped in blood, sweat, or anything that you wanna– tears, piss, shit, semen, bile, spit, or anything toxic one might excrete on the path to being complete or completely rid of it.

Trauma's terrible texture remains waiting to bleed into the new story. They say it adds character, but the rough repetition scorns me. It's that personal touch to a handwritten wedding invitation on heart-hand pressed paper for a dissolving dream that was never catered – a composition of compromise written on lumps of lignin waiting to be decomposed by the myceliated dirt, bugs, and vermin as I'm filled-in so that something from the suffering can finally be found nourishing.

I'm in the darkness listening to a silent song quickening and digesting the sadness sickening the important notes that you don't hear within the song of Love.

You left me alone to rot and nourish your vast playground. You replaced me instead of checking the flora's and fauna's lost and found. The decomposers don't care about our meaningless words or my pleas for your presence. They blindly devour the braille of my sufferings delighting in the richness of my grief while simply understanding like scholars of a lost language reading a basic recipe for rye-bread.

They read that we are all always together and as inseparable as the yeast in the air, but your love for me is dead, and you don't care, so no need to RSPV for a handmade recycled nonexistent wedding invitation slash stale bread recipe, dear, M.S.C., for it was all a hallucination.

He must've previously died from ergot poisoning, and I must be his imagination. One dimension, I die. This one, painful separation. Another, I fly to you happily awaking in my dreams ✨️ What an existence! What a creation! How many tears Before I find the patience to wait another lifetime or just cease to be seen?