By Alex Rafealov

I talk about my traumas on my finsta account hope to turn these memories into stories

We all sit around the pit fire that is the internet and exchange ghost stories of our past

Hope to turn these please for help into prayers and then into miracles

I’ve been linking too many go fundmes to my instagram account

All the money in the world and there still isn’t enough to pay the funeral costs

I’ve been reposting pictures of missing children who wandered off to the moon and never

came back

I hope they

Come back

And if not

I hope they land somewhere amongst the stars

We drink and drink and drink like coke and rum came from the fountain of youth

We don’t feel real

When the world is dancing beneath your feet and your head is too fucked up to to notice

the difference between dirt and the sky anything feels real

People say they get fucked up to escape reality but we lost reality’s definition long ago

We know nothing about it

Everything seems like reality now even when it isn’t

Even when I’m disassociated from life

It doesn’t feel like the world isn’t there it feels like I’m not there like

Like I’m the one who’s not real

It’s normal for me to not feel real

That place in limbo is almost like my second home

I was scrolling through my twitter feed the other day and every other post is

A political hoax or a missing kid

Sometimes I want to believe the government is some giant allusion made to scare us like

the boogie man

Sometimes I wanna believe all those kids ran away and came back home after a day or

too

But go fund mes never end

And we just keep adding up the funeral costs

We share our grief and condolences in the comments section and virtually tell the world

things will get better

But at the end of the day

I go home to empty bottles of wine and empty some more just to pass the time

I go home and wonder if I’m really alive

I’m lying in my bed wondering if maybe I just