i am a philosopher— at least i think.
the words spilling out of my throat like honey cough drops and nectarines. hear my mellifluous words and love them like you love your own son.
you could worship me if you tried.
ill be aristotle and socrates,
if you be the common greek peasant living off grain and their own goddamn children.
but i don't care, because i'm fat off red wine and grapes. i know about the universe, dear.
trust me when i say that the universe is made of crystals and heavenly spheres and one day we will all live in equity inside the diamond planets.
ha! but, then again, i know we will all suffocate— and though you don't know what oxygen is, oxygen-less planets will grab you by your tongue (cat got your tongue, didn't it?) and you will choke up your insides, and your heart, and lungs (except they won't work anymore), and your entire skeleton. all that's left is skin, skin, skin.
i told you to hold your breathe, didn't i?
