There is a tesseract of turbulence unfolding and you are
somewhere lost in its subzero space.
Tangled in endless miles of unrelenting black vapor.
Watching curls of skin smoke in backward motion of time.
Life jars past, as fingers dig furrows in granite.
You can't tell, does the abyss beckon?
Or are you suffocating on the bottom?
Once there was a sphere of mercury
heavy, silver-white, so regally toxic,
you couldn't resist spending the night.
But heavy metals tend to twist lucidity
and there really are things that stalk and bite.
Is that the abyss beckoning again?
Its almost like an old friend isn't it?
Why don't you just quit digging furrows for a minute
and let the darkness caress your skin.
You know just give in to the ooze of it;
let it worship you for a change, take a
big deranged gulp of cold chilled ever-kill
then let the ice of your new found passion
pour forth in numbing glee.
Yes! Feel those sweet pinpricks,
orgasming in puffy little clusters.
Birthing spiders, laying eggs of madness
in your fermenting brain.
Yep no doubt about it that time it beckoned.
Well, it is too late for you to choose now so,
it must be time for you to go.
Oh please! there really is no point