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Stability

a spiralling you

By Iris ObscuraPublished 2 months ago Updated 2 months ago 2 min read
Art by Iris Obscura

cartilage retrospection

before philosophy coalesces

a bright white

internal

flashbang

then the sustaining

subsonic

realization

that your skull

has been entered into an equation

somewhere a fist

completes its orbit

meat satellite

-

around your circumference

a quiet pen occupies the same space

purple logic

that man

no arguments here

your ribs learn about economics

small girl, big corridor,

linoleum that remembers every fall

adrenaline’s dirty circuitry

“speak up” for amplification

laughter ricochets off the lockers

a pack-mentality Doppler effect

an anonymous theorem

in a journal entry

you were too slow

to digest

-

in the tower

that man

adjusts his tie

as if tightening a tourniquet

around someone else’s mouth

neatly domesticated

calories in circles

that must never cross their kitchen

control the chewing instinct

with a kind of liturgical focus

with exquisite penmanship

-

years tumble her dry

soft parts laminated

to carry out her own autopsy

hands are procurement officers

some invitations are

precision instruments

that man

“just helping your career”

“you’re so mature for your age”

“i don't take it out for a walk, you know”

then muscle memory

only tremors now

smell his cologne

the body runs old scripts

something always feeding

on delayed reactions.

-

sit.

“stability operation”

the names change

the geometry repeats

weight applied

to the yielding surface

weight applied

to the yielding surface

weight applied

to the yielding surface

to the yielding surface

to the yielding surface

to

-

you

promise yourself

you will never be that

man ~woman~ man

then a slow toxin

long day

too little money

someone smaller makes a mistake

triggering a late-night documentary on

steam explosions and a graphite fire that

blows the core open and

vomits radioactive debris into the sky.

you register

the impact register

in their posture

contaminated

radiation burn

no way back to

first spaces

-

you register

the predator moon

sirens: mechanical howls

red little gods of recall

scroll, scroll

do not see the damage

an open jaw

you walk into

did he really step off the bridge

radioactive burns

your hands tremble

fluorescent tubes

about to

die

-

far beyond this damp theatre

microfractures gossip

in the bones of buildings

concrete creeps

toward collapse

in infinitesimal daily surrenders

-

galaxies misjudge their distances

collide in slow brutal choreography

light years wide

heat escaping structure

pattern becoming smear

order rotting into

that man

that empire

that bruise

that yielding surface

cartilage retrospection

before philosophy

coalesces

into

you

.

Stream of Consciousness

About the Creator

Iris Obscura

Do I come across as crass?

Do you find me base?

Am I an intellectual?

Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*

Is this even funny?

I suppose not. But, then again, why not?

Read on...

Also:

>> MY ART HERE

>> MY MUSIC HERE

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