Synapses

I can't sleep with this grey shit pouring out of my ears so I donated what was left of my brain to the national trust. Maybe they'll put pieces in glass cases and I'll get to show my children how fucked they'll be someday. Destruction catches up to everyone eventually and my legs are getting tired. My feet scorn opposition from sidewalks, pleading to sink into soothing concrete, anything to find rest from motion. Let me find those spaces between molecules and claim my new place among nothing. I'll be a squatter in the space between matter, an ethereal bum in a subatomic city where I will be beaten with synapses and left for dead.