borrowed dreams
I hurdled the two-headed ghost shell back in the throne room where it could brood more patiently over its tragic machinations,
hedging reality's demands...
no more could I bare its grudge than it could swallow up my shards.
no more can it disown my trails without trampling our grave.
it was meant to churn through our ribs as soon as his first yell echoed over the ballast -
right after our ignes fatui stroke the common chord
with disregard to any hope that was left for a healthy breach of faith.
help no longer mirrored desire,
need started dwelving into an undefinable dimension of loss felt warming.
I didn't know how to glue our film to our reality.
all I know is,
that film is all that'll ever guide me.
