i wind up the reel
patterned with the bones of faces
burnt into my brain
drenched into my dreams
of gutted wolves and cursed dragons
and stalled cars crashing rapidly
into the walls of their limits
 
uncut diamonds
rough and raw
falling into my palms
and into the gutter i sit upon
 
serrated words
curving themselves out of the back door
of my hollow skull
i'm frozen in my eternal conflict
inside time
whether to let them out
and suffocate in the quagmire of my images
or open the door
and feel the breeze
 
i'll dim the lightbulb resting on my head instead
and let my brain bleed onto the page