aphotic, eidetic thingsMature

tomorrow stinks of yesterday
and discarded, rotten things.
today is just a variation
on this miserable, crooked theme.

in the hollows of my pupils
darker worlds do sway and hum -
living on each breath i take,
my pulse an eerie war drum
echoing in the spaces between
these ever-shifting, relentlessly
expanding episodes in my mind. 

let's clarify -
the miraculous tortures
of unspilled words and rhymes,
of rhythms more divine
than the bone-shaking, ear-splitting
cry of discord in time -
these things which live in me:

a violent fury that swells and froths,
whose tide never recedes nor rises.
the parasitic hunger for linguistics,
the constant twitch and tremble of my lips. 

The End

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