WE SIT AND WAIT, I GUESS
The mordant clock keeps ticking.
I can hear its laughter in my sleep.
I'm no ghost, but I'm surely now
invisible enough to remain unseen.
-
What drips from me is a malice :
I want to hold your lungs, and
rip your heart. Not knowing if
that is good or bad, I do neither.
-
The heat here now is no good
as weather; rather as a harbinger
of Hell perhaps does it only make
any sense. There are spirits in the
limitless moonlight, and I gather
them to me. Each dark night is
like the one before. Trembling
Insensate. And cold.
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