Death slowed to a crawl—
I see the Reaper yawning, scythe dragging like a limp glow-stick through syrup hours.
Heartbeat drops to 33, bass swimming in cough-syrup moonlight;
angels flicker, buffering.
I kiss the ghost of tomorrow, taste static, exhale neon.
If forever loads, press skip—
I’m still buffering in the glow.