Life is a jester.
The card 0.
The ever shifting fragment.
So I crawl between the cruel sheets of bare existence,
Laughing madly, depraved, in too deep.
Trying to keep the sun
From tilting the sky
On its fire pinwheel.
Only succeeding in burning the ridges of my fingertips
To a solar crisp.
Curse the slow, glacial suicide
Decided upon eons ago.
A molten core raging into nonexistence.
But I wish,
That I was as trigger finger as that.