Somedaybugs

Updated: Jan 15, 2023

This wreckage

The wreck of our age

(I think to myself)

Somedaybugs will crawl across my eyelids and burrow in my mouth

Making a trail, a pilgrimage through my long dead corpse

Dark and somber like an ancient relic

Are we not gods to them?

They, so small, indistinguishable, easily smudged out

If that’s what a god is,

A ghost, a force of destruction and finally a home

Recent Posts

What I remember clearly is his hands in my hair, as I lay my head on his lap like a child Those long musical fingers pulling apart all my...

Left my heart In the red lights and the warm night How it tumbled over the cliff with no guardrail And just floated there like a ghost...

What comes just before something? What is the opposite of an echo? What is a seasonal premonition? If that even is a thing? Because that...