Lf.dy_

ALT Meandering within this vacant lot, my eyes glaze over the stars waltzing across the sky. And the occasional passersby scoff at my inconsequence. Was it disdain or envy, that’s been exhibited on my face? My feet of clay struck with iron –as profound as the depth of this chasm, my tainted mind, perception, or just the echoing visions of my last prayer. Prayers as meaningless as being dead, where promises are broken so casually like a late night stand. Being dead is like balking at the notion of drowning in stale air. Images flutter through death, my head –anchored to this ephemeral space. And the radio turns to static; the petrichor fading into the sluicing rain, unto eternity.