a brighter kind of hell

11 / 22 / 35

11

22

35

written in the vapor

of a hospital machine

numbers dripping slowly

through the television dream

mirrors on the ceiling

mirrors in the veins

every face dividing

into fluorescent rain

11

22

35

open heads at midnight

silver leaking through

someone left the endtimes

running in the blue

all the codes are breathing

underneath the skin

neon insects crawling

through the alphabet again

don’t look at the signal

don’t leave the windows wide

there’s a black sun growing

on the other side

11

22

35

broken mirrors melting

inside motel walls

every dead transmission

still remembers how to call

the elevators whisper

in languages of rust

while the moon hangs empty

like a camera covered in dust

all the cities flicker

softly out of phase

people made of static

walking through the haze

11

22

35

gods inside the circuits

teeth inside the rain

something keeps on dripping

through the opened brains

and nobody is sleeping

and nobody can tell

if the code means heaven

or a brighter kind of hell