March 10, 2026

my own imagination
is a fickle, fickle place

sometimes a comfort

sometimes an anxiety-ridden nightmare
full of all the fuel i put into it
over years and decades of
self-hatred
and self-loathing
and self-harming
and imploding
and all i thought i’d want to accomplish
and all i still want to do
but am frozen to
the spot when i try to try

maybe
as with the imagination
i just need to keep on
gently
trying
and exploring
till i find a neat little [abandoned] space
and sit inside it
for a while

March 9, 2026

imagination

figments fleeting by

a socked foot slipping past the corner of your eye

an echo of your own voice, continuing on and on and on

and the raptured words of someone you don’t even know
swimming in your
mind

~~~

i suppose i’m doing
exactly
what he invited me to do
[which is pretty cool]

~~~

if i can’t explore
abandoned buildings near me
i can at least explore
the abandoned ruins
of my mind

March 8, 2026

the rapture didn’t come like how we’d been taught

we thought
standing around
perhaps asleep
perhaps in prayer
we’d
just be levitated from our bodies
up
and up
and up to heaven
instantaneous
immediate
immaculate

but the rapture took so damn long

trekking from old homes to new ones
each more dilapidated
less clean
than the last

there was very little sleep
and even less prayer
towards the end
crossing borders
swept into vans
when least expected
[i suppose at least that one
was instantaneous
and immediate]
[but the insides of those vans
could hardly be called
immaculate]

and now here i am
being told that this final step
is the real rapture

but haven’t i been told that
for each step of the way

i’m starting to stray from my faith

and this tiny cup of gross-smelling liquid
barely coated by some sickly sweet scent
over top of it…
i thought the rapture was something that would happen to me
but it looks like i happen to it
i control it
but maybe
just maybe
i’m sick of all this rapturing

maybe i wanna try my luck, after all this time, with the heathens

February 16, 2026

feeling like i just want to fall asleep
and stay asleep
at any given moment
of any given day

and is it depression?

is it the exhaustion of an
active allergic reaction?

am i just a little bit less
energetic
than the average
person?

could it be something i’m not even thinking of
yet?

or do i just want to spend my days lost in my own imagination land?

[and
could i bring that imagination
into my own waking
writing
life
sometime?

soon?

please?]