The kind of purple-red bruise cut that you only get from being cut by metal

This ink drips through the clenched fists of the universe and we call the resulting blackness forever; an insurmountable difference between open space and circles.
Well I think there are edges.
I don't think forever is even a concept because it doesn't make sense, just like reflections in the mirror don't make sense and science doesn't make sense and god doesn't make sense and nothing makes sense, except for when you pay with a five and get three quarters back.
I can't put numbers into words because numbers aren't words. I don't understand how a 2 is a T-W-O. I see it as a 2.
The rash of lights littering the blackness- I think it's a result of scratching, I really do. It's like a base of yellow fading to England gray, although I don't really think it's like that at all. I make shit up constantly and just because it looks nice in print I believe it and I live by it but you can't live by anything but life because then you cater your beliefs to a outline that is pre-made, and I know I said there were edges before but I am the most inconsistent person you will probably ever meet so please just tune me out.