Delirium

16

Wednesday, August 2012

Inked thoughts, soulless to the touch
She doesn't know how to stop their reach
Their blackened deaths, their misty breath
Tickles her ears, muttering, "Give in,"
"Stop," her cessation is abstract
The irony so sinisterly
Calling out to her like her inked mind
The convex perplexity of the hellions
Is something that rises every night
And chooses to stay.

     >>k.l