In the night I glow, sick, eyes wild
like halogen bulbs. I short-circuit,
burning through image carousels.
All the flashbacks cycle, the pace
quickening to centrifuge. It splits
my inner world apart. Sieve through
the degrading fragments of me.
All these empty revelations. All these
premature dreams. All these days
that die just like this: curled on the loft,
sucking down waves of bile and ache,
losing my hands in this endless dark,
realizing they were never mine at all.
Hopeless for resuspension, I try to float
here in the starless black, my soul
so distant from the body that remains.