Abstractions of the most peculiar kind. The conversation of the moonlight and the midnight cloud bursts. Fragmented realities. The silk of our tongues. Words like wounds and words like painkillers. We own this entire papertown. The other ones may fade away or sink into the depths and crevices of oblivion but not us. You’re something flung out of space and in the layers I’ve not seen yet lies my transient home. Crystallized breaths and an affinity for the unknown. The hours roll by like they mean everything and nothing reducing us to the status of servants and slaves in the eyes of Time. Show me the essence of this existence and I will surrender. How fleeting these moments of magic are and how quickly they disappear into the realms of this unnatural world. It hits us too hard. The sun, the moon, the equanimity given by their light tries to reach us but we are plain and uncouth and primitive and not even in a way that evokes primal passions. And yet, I can’t help but feel it in my black veins. There’s dark matter in our wombs. It pricks us when we smell love. All the restrained movement in our limbs is born from this. The day we will let go of these inhibitions will be the day we will leave this garb of morality behind and become the sinners we know we’ve always been.