Inside the open door
All skin and bone
A slew of possibilities
A variety of pleasures
Hiding in their many costumes
Those physical and those abstract
All there is to do is choose
And so they do
After a time
The task of choice is no task at all
The temptation comes with haste
The means poured and burned and dropped
The choice was soon an illusion
It escaped the mind and took hand
The slight discomfort of wandering
And the less subtle quirks
A scape of half beings
Half mind and half existence
On the furniture; on the floor
In every room; on every level
Bodies and bodies
Wandering (or stumbling)
Or laying idle in sleep or daze
A house of obscure horrors
As more and more fall
Delight turns to danger
Minor sins grow numerous
And mortal ones lure these minds
Having planned a short trip
And taken a long vacation
With every step, ease
Amid haze and hallucination
YOU ARE READING
Nothing I can do...
PoetryThis is the collection of poetry that I've written over several months which I will be releasing in parts.
