My breath is blood.
My blood is air.
There’s a busy frantic dying thing shackled to the inside surface of my skull,
Trying to grow webs of connections to replace the brain
That it just realized was nothing but a giant gas planet,
Not a rock,
Not a stable thing,
Not an anchor.
Jupiter’s breath is blood too,
A bloody sea three times the size of this whole planet and I think
Jupiter is a terrible brain to have.
To not have.