To not summarize:

(Feeling of) white hot desire.

Stage lights, I can’t hide and I don’t want to.

Grey smoke, in my pores


Some sort of edge that I am walking

How do I matter?

Input, output.

Other people and their infinite beauty.

Pleasures/ Fears, so intimately involved

Passion, expressions of mortality.

Kill me.


Now mouldy and gone.

Longing. For a stranger.

This is it. Believe it or not, all of this is it.