piecemeal dementia of growth and tragedy

[theartof3am]

there's a song playing in the background but the migraine persists in aching of the otherlife emerging, so i hibernated in the dizzied bliss of night and drink; i am merely animal dreaming of being human, birthing a new form yet unconceived, a heart breaking by the reverse of common process. words of the used-to-be are has-beens erased by black paint. when does a soul find ways to speak once the histories have been silenced? fragmentary remembering that once i held something dear. what was it? now transplant with roots removed, destined for dust and dirt. this is the caterpillar sickness, a shell imposed between all that is and what little left inside, creating a creature of habit ruled by routine. interior: something screams to breathe.

"the world is, the world is.
love and life are deep,
maybe as his eyes are wide..."