To Mr. Karl, with love

[undertheturban]

Through a possum i Walked,
Spinning, spinning, in the Dreams
My Soul eating alive the spheres of glass
That becomes my aunt in the gossamer

A pair of Silken stockings
Bleeds Within me
and from my lungs comes a snail

Today I weep, my fire-lock leaned in the corner,
Zombies feed upon my flesh,
scratching at my scalp,
tearing it open

I scream
No one hears, hears, hears
Agony, agony, agony.
I myself am the wounded bird

I hear a fly buzzing as my eyes begin to fail me,
The red of my eyelids, mine not me.
bequeath my undone rail.

by chelsea, me.

thank you.