Sunday, September 4, 2011


The earth shifts, the air you just inhaled seems to slip away. Something sour blooms, something unclean at your very core. The bile choked back whispering acid up your throat, teeth clenched to hold back the inevitable. The sickness holds sway over the senses. The sickness rises from the depths of the void.

Unwell, the hours clot, teary eyes dousing any semblance of a spark. Count the spiders on the ceiling like they were the stars in the sky. Count the minutes between motions, aloft in the engine of these sorry tides. Too hot, too cold, sweating out sickly chills, gooseflesh and dreams sunk to the depths of the ocean's graves. This moment marked by the ending of the last. The perpetuity of vile superstition as the flesh mingles with its ending.

The soul clots, the clabber of matter aware of its bent. The world grinds out its spells and symbols, the hash marks of each struggle lost to the next. Our time treasured or squandered, passes away just the same. Adrift on the skin of this existence, guts knotted and mind on fire. This life sticking to each tooth and nail, everything crash and tremble. Everything so hard to swallow.

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