But this circle of Hell proved maddening
For the silence pervaded all the forms
Saddening
I am not in an apartment, you silly neighbor!
Don't call the cops- I said don't call the cops, you traitor!
Did you not hear my plee
I shall deliver thee
To the sounds of Plolih
Who with his tentacles
Did sew the universe
Into two bits of loin
For his wife's dress, and coin!
Ah, but you dial the
Number even faster
Claiming that I am to
Be under influence
Of golden substances
Do you not hear that wind?
It is the reckoning
Of the ancient Plolih
Grimacing with his dough
Stop saying I'm to die
I'm not trying to kill
Myself, the ground is nice
And I'd fall ever high!
Oh, did you hear shatters?
I didn't mean to drop
Now my body is ground
I did make quite the plop!
Kneed my dough, won't you, please?
I'm a body, Plolih.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
