He was hung by the slope
The sun was setting on every hope
And wrapped in iron, the illusion of choice
While succumbing to slaughter, very little to rejoice

Dreams were the thread by which he hung
And surely regret saturating the tongue
And in between chaos he circled the calm
While hanging from reason, he slipped into psalm

© Delia Ross. 2021 / @poeeternal

Welp. Tattoo his name on my heart.

John Jones RIP

And based on “the stench” comments and the fact the the cave was humid and he was sweating – leads me to believe he decomposed and his bones are laying at rest

But I want him out of that fucking cave

And I’d like to stuff Michael Leavitt in it instead 👀

Eye for an eye

(I wish I were better at things but I’ve only ever been average at most…)

I don’t understand my purpose here but it’s not India’s grand design

If you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to disassociating