(no subject)
I am widowed.
The black crack sends tendrils
creeping through my nebulous brain.
I am hollowed.
Like rank and rotting corpses
floating down the stream of my solitude.
The images stain and smear their memory
upon the visual cortices.
The expectant cries and hellos
shout themselves on repeat in my temporal lobes.
To find another to occupy the spaces left
the gaps between each fired synapse. I reach,
and never finding there, the warmth of breath
the smell of hair. Their air or body residue,
has faded except for in the memory of my olfactory sense.
There's nothing in this hollow form
but ghosts that float and clamour to be recalled.
To be given life again
to take it by force, to be given form.
Crammed and pushed through the folds,
of the organic twists and mental furls. They suffer
to not be given over to the gray matter. To be absorbed
and be eaten by the worms. As they have been eaten,
by the worms. Yet there are no scavengers to clean
the carcus of my mind, no enzyme-bacteria to break down
and reuse the bits they've left behind.
Locked behind glass their vacant eyes stare eternal
in cruel mockery of their easy death and disappearance.
The nervous system's pulse and breath belie the truth
of their agonised unrest.
The black crack sends tendrils
creeping through my nebulous brain.
I am hollowed.
Like rank and rotting corpses
floating down the stream of my solitude.
The images stain and smear their memory
upon the visual cortices.
The expectant cries and hellos
shout themselves on repeat in my temporal lobes.
To find another to occupy the spaces left
the gaps between each fired synapse. I reach,
and never finding there, the warmth of breath
the smell of hair. Their air or body residue,
has faded except for in the memory of my olfactory sense.
There's nothing in this hollow form
but ghosts that float and clamour to be recalled.
To be given life again
to take it by force, to be given form.
Crammed and pushed through the folds,
of the organic twists and mental furls. They suffer
to not be given over to the gray matter. To be absorbed
and be eaten by the worms. As they have been eaten,
by the worms. Yet there are no scavengers to clean
the carcus of my mind, no enzyme-bacteria to break down
and reuse the bits they've left behind.
Locked behind glass their vacant eyes stare eternal
in cruel mockery of their easy death and disappearance.
The nervous system's pulse and breath belie the truth
of their agonised unrest.