dank.

sails of faith,tattering at the centre.a shipwreck hides more hope than my insides.inside i am bile and blood.vile and odour-ful.a dispirited body worse than a spirit disembodied.i could claw at the future to only break nails and weep at the inevitable that i think is evitable.if ever i am able to step forward,that step is but the prelude to the collapse.perhaps this helps,perhaps perhaps it does.and perhaps we all will to die tomorow,either in an oven or in our sleep.and perhaps we will.