Disheveled Instances


 I zoned emptiness into my mind as I lay dormant on my mattress with nothing but air

My only safe haven is overtaken by infestations no being should bare.

Sensations of bugs skittering over my warm skin trickles memories of better places my body has been...

I cringe and curl as I realize reality is no longer that pearl which once made me grin. 


Life grows shorter as the years morph into the feeling of days... 

And days dole hours as hours merely erase.


The true killer of time is time itself.

We tick and tock through time as if we will drone in harmony forever. 

Time is only an ember

Burning bright

Beginning existence 

And then dimming deeper and deeper into the dark 

As its age augments


My muscles relax...

Forced paralysis of my limbs intensifies and dreams suddenly stream lucidly throughout my third eye.


The beauty of roses burst like the bubbling breath of an oyster

Ready to relieve itself of the blissful burden lying within 

As the thought of this crustacean floods my mind,

I notice even in slumber time still ticks.

Sleep is the pause of consciousness, yet cognizance still contributes to thought and thought distinguishes time which is eventually forgotten.


Accepting that there is no longer control over my thoughts,

They promenade naturally to a nebulous nowhere.


Irritation is the true rash of time...

We never realize how much she dines with our hearts and within our minds...

She digs deep as we mature 

Proving life as a child is longer and pure.


I wake and contemplate...

Time is the true killer and we are its ember.


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