Eight, Twelve

I know that sickly pull
a retched twisting clutch
rendering strong and controlled form
a pool of chesnut agony
Cold and jagged fragments
icy, bloody bites
slicing flesh to ribbons
memories and nightmares
moonlit cubes sliding
in still and terrorfying calm
across and up the walls.
Loss and fear and agony
a hollow, hungry place
filled with pearly tablets
the burn of canned heat-
medication for calamity.
I know that cavernous space
below the bony arched cage
where beats a worn and withered heart
that simply seeks resolve.
Death is our keeper
and we are his progeny.

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オテモヤン said...
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