black pits

above us was deformity, cruel anomalies and the secrets of their brutality, and the churning sensation of bile which whirls when the forbidden is approached. i pictured the twelve stories of skeletal loss, disinfected memories, the stark neurosis of the flickering flourescents and a jungle of aporia which weighed on my thoughts as heavy as the physical building around us loomed. shadows and glass shards cracked and swooned, our drunk brains wading, our dumb-courage capsizing. on our palms, the grounds own dirt clotted the sweat which made climbing such labour.

i didnt notice it on the first entry, my eyes fuzzy in the black, but to our left, through the white door jarred open by the brave before us, was a grand piano lying on its side, its face smashed in, its white and black shiny teeth scattered giant tic tacs. it had been pushed down the concrete stairs infront of us, the sound could only have been magnificent resounding tolls of a brass bell, the crack and split of polished wood the crescendo. psychotic cackles of both worlds must have broken out from the hospital walls in applause. we darted and leaped between shadows and still puddles to avoid leaving our black imprints on the walls or to disturb the thick settled dust with our feet.

she was an infantile drunk, and the heave of her breath which seeped beer and cigarettes was repulsive and embarrassing in the disappointing tranquility of the main hall, which we entered with half-squinted eyes, expecting a human or other but finding walls, doors and stale air. i crept near to him, always between them.

an insoluble contradiction that would be my undoing, my coming undone.

this is shit.