JammedThoughts

I smother the skeleton in words clothe it in adjectives woven from the silken stretches of violently firing synapses, feed it on dialogue gilded in silver from conversations I don't grasp. I garden a single plot until its lush leaves spill up branches and insinuate themselves between the vital vertebrae. Wily wordy weeds encroach gorged already on verbal herbicide unhindered by the strikes of red pen. The skeleton suffocates and crumbles, spilling in unordered alphabet on the floor. I sweep the dust into a wastebin.

Sometimes I go outside in the deep of the night and I flick my eyes up just once and see a disappointing scant spattering of dull stars. Other nights I look up more than once and every time the stars multiply until a billion burn my eyes and as I stare I lose myself and I do not cry for help, no! From my very core I cry for more of this searching feeling of infinite tininess, of this sudden knowledge that really ought to knock me off my feet but instead roots me to where I stand that I am here now, that I exist just as fully as those stars and yet I am nothing. But even compared to blasting solar flares my desperate little bursts of air are s