underneath certain bridges flows water that reeks of bodies. i float above, pondering the number of marrow-filled bones swimming underneath. i wilt, as i always do, and i turn the other cheek as the sting of misplaced hands collides against flesh. i think of jesus then, and "my god, my god, why have you forsaken me?"

i spill my guts to the underworld in response to their attempts at making me succumb to their vacuum of pleasure, of loneliness; and i glare in the face of danger, remembering gaia -

fearless.
and i resent these misfortunes, hastily placed words, and dying evidence of faith as i fade into the unknown, waiting to wake up -

waiting to playfully punch royalty in the shoulder as i laugh at her ongoing prank;

waiting for anyone,

waiting for the joke,

just

waiting.