DNotS

 I open my eyes and although all is black, I know I am falling.

Deft swepts of trembling tepid winds,

Tacky tars infecting ancient serrated scars.

At what point did past become present and future afar?

Can it be solved with shamanic sutures?

A flickering candle, no wax left,

Darkness and light, its all a mess.

Conflicting, conflating, all coalescing into a stagnant amalgamation.

Nihilism, pessimism, absurdism, each take turns torrenting out into a consuming totality.

Exhausted and falling,

So fast now the air is thin,

Like being caught in the silent scream of someone else's dream.