Psychics Need Psychics / by grace mcgrade

There is an invisible chain in the sky that draws people together, and we are led by kismet thread that expands beyond the farthest reaches of space, commanded by a silent super intelligence. I feel as though I am watching time, as it curves and contours each passing moment- for that quantum nudge back into some animal, holy bond, designed long before this hologram was erected. 

What is it? Connectivity. Karmic. A Mythical Stain. A virus that is nonsensical, altering preposterously. 

Your ghost has nestled deep somewhere,silently, discreetly.  Beyond the marble walls, moat-like borders and recesses of doubt, oblivion and apathy. Past miles of coding, strands of programming, wound right through my skin like a delicate insect. Etched and inched it’s way through sheets of misanthropy. Somehow, you got in. You have settled, sedimented and infected an echelon of my soul

I didn’t 

Even

Know

Had.

And somewhere, there, in this newly found chasm of soul, I feel myself, and I feel you. You are televised through invisible rooms, silently dancing on unstable plates- a vault of heaven, a chamber of hell. You seep out of me in uncontained moments that humiliate me. Shock me. Like a symbolic cadence, a language I forgot I could speak.

I feel you inside of me like a silent demolition. Uncomfortable, and resounding. You shot through my reality like a bullet. I have been detonated, assembled and disassembled. I have tried on a million perspectives about you. You are seismic and simultaneously non existent. Mechanically frequent, like a cosmic time bomb, terrifyingly starved of divine course.

Who builds a fire just to asphyxiate it?