Surai
born on a sinking ship
- Mar 26, 2024
- 324
The way the world seems to work. Loops in on itself. All morals loop in on themselves. Through the observer we can see. Through the weeds of jungles. Where animals tear themselves apart. And what's left, spread across the bathroom floor. There is nothing, there is nothing we could ever think was true. I never thought it could be this bad. It could be this bad. If only we could float up into the sky all draped in. The cloths we use to hide the animal. There is not one that isn't. To remove ourselves. I hope it isn't too hard. To remove ourselves.