November 2, 2008
Perception flickers, narrows to a tunnel,
claustrophobic black, discarnate in the darkness.
Pinhole of light turns my eyes down,
Still figure below, self null and void
Skin itches, ripples, I want it off, it is not mine
The confines of this sketch I have become,
Monochrome, inky on parchment
My pieces fragment in thin air.
The realest thing I can still feel is my hands,
Frantic grasping, struggle to save waning memories.
I am not inside. There is nothing to feel.
I hear myself speak, words stolen from another mouth
Slurred, sticky syllables of tar, foiled, futile
In a trance, trapped in a haze,
Anesthetized with eyes wide.
All things fade, tatter. I am falling down stairs,
Sinking into the earth while the grounds are rising.

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