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Ancestral whispers beckon us back
to a starless womb, to a time before
this place where all is languishing,
where all is ensnared by the grasp
of synthetic hands, becoming,
and ripping our bones from within

Hold your spine before your eyes
& feel how brittle it always was
Watch as it crumbles to dust
from the pressure of a bleak reality
Hear the song of moth wings rise
to the hum of the neon nightglow

Breathe the wind-swept chill of streets,
shudder like the tremble of a dying flame
Fade away in dereliction
like moth-torn pages of a lost tome
Drink the shade of memories
like azaleas in this ruinous landscape

We are the crystals of snow,
submerged and forsaken
in a black, viscous liquid
seeping from scarred earth

We are the crystals of snow
encased in a black gem
of obsidian glass—
for now & forevermore

When we have stripped away
the prison of our flesh
We will gaze upon the
featureless black

When the heart comes to still,
the nexus will burn,
as dawnlight abounds
in our slow decay

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