↳ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

xvii

i. once i stood in the middle of a hurricane shouting at the clouded sky until i felt my bones breaking open and once i stared into the fog pretending i didn't see the ghosts of the people i love in it even though i did, i did, i did

ii. i know the art of dreaming high while feeling pretty damn low but

iii. decaying dreams bleed into spirits of the past, a throbbing heart for eyes and an unconscious mind for bones. color does not exist where there is no light.

iv. are you alive yet? are you alive yet, are you alive yet? are you ali-