If I weren’t on a journey far away from home and I didn’t have to scrape my money to its bone, I’d throw a hundred dollars through the atmosphere to turn purple like a bruise, and pretend like I have the chance to get to know you.
But zero times one hundred still amounts to zero. So even on that stage, it’d be me faking chances and staging made-up romances like maybe if I begged, you’d beat my purple to black and blue. Hand around my neck and fuck me too.
But, not a syllable of this gets through the white noise of irrelevance. And my sphere of influence is equal to my ape index and you are far too far away. I’d hyper-extend myself and still not reach. Stuck out there, hanging off a cliff, broken and alone.
So instead, I lay in a cold bed away from home, praying prayers of swirling slow ashen charcoal smoke. Begging silent sighs into the subtle windy night for chance to bend your ear and coincidence convince you to hear me out. I have nothing else. I was born a fire oni and we null-ghosts are not allowed to pray aloud. Better never seen and never heard.
So all this energy amounts to nothing, zero, null.
I only burn fever dreams of you. I have no faith. I ride lust like a bicycle I can not handle. I flip the wheel and fly off, head over handle bars, running my face into the pavement of reality. Skin my hands and knees. Get roadrash all down my naked chest and tummy.
All said and done: I stand there shivering, covered in my blood. Red all over and no signs of black or blue or purple. Only gritty grey gravel trapped in tattoos underneath the ripped up mess of me. My imagination is a coping mechanism and it tells me this could be the warmth of love from your fingertips.
It’s not. And never will be.
Because ghosts like me and gods like you don’t meet.
I only get to exist as passing comments on strangers’ lips. And you are only static three-dimensional images looped on infinite repeat.
I may meet you in the ether once we’ve both crossed over and nothing else exists.