“Is this what the prophets felt like when they spoke to god?”
Booming noiselessness echoes in my burrowed out veins. I’ve sat in this tomb with the voice of God screaming translucent Griffith horns into my side, and eye, and womb. What is it to die if this sound escapes and absorbs until I see life and death bound into endless glimpses?
Booming noiselessness echoes in my burrowed out veins. I’ve sat in this tomb with the voice of God screaming translucent Griffith horns into my side, and eye, and womb. What is it to die if this sound escapes and absorbs until I see life and death bound into endless glimpses?
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