words from a box

| March 8th, 2003

your beauty strikes me, slowly

as the silence lays between us
like a stillborn child
we created in our
twisted copulation
we both regret our actions
not yet committed

hide inside,
try not to wonder
slide on by,
world torn asunder
hold the ground
to keep from drifting
kill the sound
now souls are shifting

pressure changes
vision strays from focus
fluctuation, blur and bend
floating soul, can’t touch
the ground
internal waves pixelate
towards edges
where they dissipate

i swear, it feels like
the end of the world

withdrawn
without hope of
wonder
withered words
woebegone
waiting while
weeping

folding things back
upon themselves
we find a shorter path of travel
a way to connect
without the cause of effect
the Kronal Ojeckal demon slain
we walk through the invisible gates
of eternal light to come out
– indeterminate spacial
occupation, half in the
pool of flesh . . . remainder
still floating on thoughts
of greater nothing, still
burning in ‘void of form’,
blissful slow burn

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