still

your blood still hangs heavy in this vessel.
anonymous venom coursing through me.
lungs, heart, intrepid connection
introspection radio...

...memories miniature,
devoid of any concept,
and left to pluck out inconsistancies.
is it so wrong to handicap your where-with-all?

changed and unchained bruised fruit,
like skin that falls apart on contact.
we reach for those white pills to set us in motion,
tired of waiting for the room to spin.

eureka hangs a timetable in space,
machiavellian story
drips pages soaked in connection.
validity ratio...

...memories sufficient
to lose track of your concept.
i push revenge to limitless boundaries.
is it so wrong to situate your happiness?

because i get to decide
if the stars fall from your eyes,
like descent after the pride.