Laptpop

Your voice echoes through hollow chambers, deep below the intoxicated edges of perception. Here, I am, and here I slip through the cracks of understanding, and smoke curls through the fractured mirrors before me. If there is language beyond words, let it sail over the unpredictable tides of longing, and (hopefully) reach the uncharted islands of your awareness.

Spectral flowers, each petal a shattered fragment of what was and what might have been, shall henceforth swallow the treacherous phantoms of devotion, and lay beneath labyrinthic cathedrals that, really, never ever held any level-headed purpose whatsoever. For the time being, I remain imprisoned in an eternal dance between becoming and not yet being. But, just perhaps, someday, come some distant yet heartening ripple of time, an affectionate universe will whisper back.

I do not regret a thing. (“Just like darkness never regretted surrendering to the tenderness of morning’s first kiss.”)

By the way, here’s Laptpop for you all. Available everywhere and anywhere.