I wanted to write another story this weekend, but I just haven’t found the inspiration. I’m working on two new ones, but I keep getting distracted with weird thoughts and existential bullshit. I think I spent three times longer staring at the screen yesterday than it would have taken to just write one of the fucking things.
Instead, a poem came to me this morning for the first time in a while: I call it Suicide Stargazers.
It’s hard to say whether this one was written by Zyklon or me, because it’s based off ideas that both of us are struggling with. I’m the one who articulated it and wrote it in metaphorical blood.
Well, I suppose I always am, at least from a conventional human perspective. But in truth, the body belongs to both of us. We share it willingly out of mutual desire to protect each other, with a fair dose of trust . . . And of course, disdain for all living things.
This makes for some interesting psychic connections from time to time, I’ll say that much.
This poem touches on all of these concepts, and so much more.
Read Suicide Stargazers here.