P. Lapinou

Sweetheart, Lying Down

In the middle of the room roves the wild eye of the lightbulb hurrying the moth to die and that dip that flicker that you thought could have just been your imagination, your eyes, it might have even been the serotonin leveling itself out in your brain,

I mean,

who can tell with the amount of shit you’re on,

man,

but it happened, you saw it, and it was the world realising just how powerful it was and shuddering with mean-spirited ecstasy.