One for sorrow

The magpie taps on the window as my soul is crashing to the floor. I watch him swooping towards me wondering if he sees me, falling 

I am lost in the nihilistic gaze, the cycle of how should I save myself/why should I even try/what should I cling to/what does it even matter. Like really what does it all matter? Fuck this shit. 

Down down down

The empty awkward eyes of regular people who don’t think about the dark beneath the dark beneath the dark, who will eat up all of your light if you let them.

Because they don’t make their own. They exist on yours. On the “other”. Perhaps that’s what it is? The mirror you hold up filled with the blackest of black.