The wide maw of sleep deprivation. Tunnel light etching scripts for the nausea people. The magpie man wants to blow his brains out on the high-wire. It scares and deafens the village below. Illusion Lake has no water. On the shores of vast emptiness. Always getting ripped on and lied to. The invalid code of humanity. Green numbers are counting down my last few seconds of ache. Someone’s trying to move me out. Someone’s trying to get rid of me. I can feel it in the air of this catatonic wasteland.

I sat on the iron throne on the patio in the back yard smoking Isosceles cigarettes and watching the orange tongues dance in the fire pit. The stars were ecclesiastic and guiding the worst of men to detriment. My nerves are frostbitten. I get punished for everything. Terrible things from the past are coming back to haunt me. Torturous memories. Mishandled manifestations. The sloppy retreat. I had the villa and now it is gone forever. The Italian seaside slaps the shore in my head. My eyes see a blue settlement.

The airport windows are large and tall. Hills in the shadowy distance. Runways with black skid marks. Planes come and go. Lonely people stand and look out. They don’t want to go back home to emptiness and killing routine. Crushed hearts, crushed souls seeking vengeance, but they are peaceful animals. They ache with the thought that they have done nothing but fuck up their lives, let love parades walk all over them. Poor decisions while high on untethered hearts. These crushing memories are ripping me open, and I can’t even scream.

By

Aaron Echoes August