Vagabond by S Young

MOSTLY HE'D FEEL IT after waking from a nap in the afternoons or early in the evenings. A wall of confusion, followed by a feeling of being completely lost, lost beyond all hope of being found, and then the sadness, a deep, timeless sadness would fill him, before he’d come to, realise who he was, where he was, and piece together his life once again in small, digestible chunks.
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Each part of us
is distinct due to
the length between
our beginning
and the end of time.

I’m trying to see how to slow time
and reconcile dimensions with crime
but I keep condensing the days.
I eat one meal a day like a snake.
I must change my life
give up to the wave pool portal, drink bleach.

when you speak of pain
i say
“rain does not fall upon one roof alone”
but
it slakes the roots of
the silk-cotton tree
whose coffin wood roots
are reft open
for the Aziza
who dwell in its cloak

Joy for you and jouissance for she. Open upwards for endless white. Walk through white doors to find her access. Walk through white door after white door to open your mind and find what she’s looking for. He’s she and she’s he because it’s endless and the door to the next room is upon the pangolin but it’s all okay and the people don’t follow but she continues into further white doors to continue to seek out the pure joy that’s for everyone.

You see, he’s a man, and they’re a person, and she’s walking through white doors. She’s sober. She hasn’t taken any drugs, aside from food and water. Behind they’re taking drugs and partying into the morning and blasting their minds and missing the purity that’s simple joy.