all things

Dreams of greater quality than life
Have become high sign and signal
That I stand upon the precipice
Of something damning.

Here were thoughts of yesteryears
Dark flecks of memory
Washed up on a black sand beach
Indiscernible and indeterminate
They sunk into my soul as razors
And cut out my conscience
Exposing the bastard at the core
All whilst, torn loose from my mind,
A shadow crept about
Sniffing at me
Taking little bites
Peering out, as if others were watching
It crawled up my spine
And carved a permanent release
At the base of my skull

With naught left to ponder
I return unwhole, unclean
And it’s all too clear to me
There’s little left,
far too little left,
To save