the purple frozen sun sets

this vision is not infinite, not always. these words are simple, cut with one bone. these words inflict some sense of things. this day is not the end, but it is not now, that i would want. this prickle in my heart is ugly, this racing skin. this swamp i tend to, this empty flame i keep clean. this wound is heavy, and not a crown. this truth is golden, though, that the purple frozen sun sets, and that was good, and now flooding grievous.

i am shitting out these mix tapes. i am filling my mouth with these black curtains and decaying polite demands and indifferent urgencies.

how can i rise.