difficulty using language in a social context

when all the bright days passed away and the owls were burned i turned to myself - my hands were full of things i stole from the dead - opened them widely and cried the name of the night. it was soft as a found skin of a forgotten lover, incomplete as a mystery. another rotation, another planet your fate is more or less obvious in the walls of reason and in this stupid, unnecessary country. so i turned to myself and whispered the name of the night. nothing change, yet the night felt relief.

in a hotel room she sang; he opened his veins. the blue tv screen blinked: drown the elders, kiss the unborn. the transition will rest in you like a forever delayed time that returns to you from eternity. what is left of an onion if you strip it away?

::: no one should be exposed to nothingness for a longer period :::