everything:
reflection,
every moment lagging
just slightly
behind itself.
this stutter of time,
inspiring brief,
violent nauseas.
the heart behind its bony bars:
more a tumor,
meant to be removed,
more an unwelcome squatter
in a dilapidated house.
the intrusion of a stranger's fingers
infects an icy chill on the skin:
small arctic patches
that no sunlight can melt -
even the pass of eyes
is the swing of a scythe:
i am beheaded,
& the next three seconds
last forever -
No comments:
Post a Comment