Pattern precog rushing dead point Entrails divulge forecast Cut the signal heart rate clocked With the patience of slow death Epileptic topography Abruptly white noise paves Putting it apart with music The sky will be your grave
Surrendering grains to the ebb Of the tides The tang of salt will pass with time I read dead pixels in the grains of the sky Scrambling to transcribe Freshly minted sprites Every time i clock your eyes I fucking want to die
