My Business Runs On Insomnia, Spineblue.com

Insomniac, An Anecdote by SpineBlue

Dark horses shattered across my horizon. Yellow buds threatening to break the surface of dawn. Tender laughter arises across the skyline of concrete misconceptions and humble beginnings. Trespassing one’s configuration for the sake of controlling time. What a waste. Misplaced tendencies arise with the Sun Dance. Clawing its’ way into the window pains and mainframes of frayed intelligence. Scattered mortality lies beneath my breath. Threatening to vanish like roses in January. Warning their flight in spring. As a vessel post convinced of beautiful things hiding from me. And me alone. A special entity so eclipsed by one’s own presence, its’ ego owns its’ soul. Infatuation with life to the point of death.

And she became what she had always wanted, a living contradiction. Talking sideways, walking backwards. And yet breathing her air, she sacrificed all this for, made her sick. Talking about ego trips and unnamed lips. What a waste. But this is mania, right? Evoking words of past trespasses while trespassing. This is victimizing life. This is considering her body no more than meat. That needs no sleep. No food. Just water. Wake up woman. You are woman. You are not a plant, requiring water as fuel and good intentions as fertilizer. Sway the nation. Tell them your story. Scream it alone though, and do not wonder why no one responds.

April 5, 2019 / SpineBlue

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