There’s a dead man in my skin seeping out through the synapses. Everything bleeds. My brain is in fever. It took him three days to die. Yearning and needing. Upside down. Overcome and taken under.
Undertaker. Lady in waiting. Absolute purge of thought. Genocide of the mind.
Furnaces rage. Skin blisters and writhes with crawling life. I step into the doorway and the sunlight seers my soul. Strobe lantern in her secret garden. I, the botanist in shuttered greenhouse meddling with nature’s perfection. Corrupt. In error. Bitter, miserable fruit dangling upon an unnatural, heaving vine. No pest dares feed of this. They abandon, and so sever the cycle.
War inside. Toxic innards. A gash to salvation. Bodies piled into cruel arrangements adorn the path. One step at a time.
A threshold of ash. I push the door. She gasps. The hinges crack as the rust shells. Intrude upon the black stone to where the Non doth void all things. Big empty swallows every ion. The body collapses. The soul’s essence is one drop of celestial gold that pierces the silence in harsh unwavering tone. I am here. I am within thee and thou art of me.
My journey is at a close. I have chased the shadow and stepped through. It ripples behind me like a cowl of black satin. Iridescence. Wet and dry at once. A black born of every conceivable tone. A black that drags.
The chemical has erased the flesh. The corruption is an echo screeching into oblivion. Take me home.
I rise with the weight if nothingness in tow. Yield and be free. Annihilate the corrupt vision which imprisons the mind. Send explosive charges to the depths and feel the heat crack the soul apart. Reinvent and re-consume. In endless union with self the nothingness bleeds through the harsh flesh.
Hide yourself. Be gone from this place.