I bleed onto a page for you
where diction has lost all its meaning,
and secrets fall from lips

like dying petals in a forgotten garden.
Believing language
we speak in tongues deceiving ourselves,

my heart whispers in forms that
twenty years of reason and cognition have rendered useless.
If only you could hear what I have seen for aeons before this zero.

To see our system as a void, to believe ourselves immune
To never feel our wings melting.
We are all spirits trapped and dying.

Trapped and dying.