Wormholes

three eyes pass the crimson. three eyes fracture the tale. Tired fairies pretend to know. what this darkness wants.

an abundance of skin. a series of apologies. as if this storm can be debated. convinced by phantoms. reasoned with by shit. that it's over. that this tired time machine is finally broken. and i'm here. for better or worse. I'm here. even if no one notices.

I'm lost even with these directions.

some places don't want to be found. I'm lost though the map is in my hand. the treasure. it comes and goes. the destination. it's there in the crease of urgent flesh. but it's betrayed me before.

my time machines. in great abudance. the breath of skeptics fortify my lungs. such is the nature of fairy tales. and villains. they make it easy to believe. in the impossible.

and to trust that the impossible still believes in you.