Sometimes, it’s like chewing glass.
This flood in my mouth is strange,
Because I can’t tell what I am chewing on.
Slipping into this lethargic trance,
To mute my thought stem
Of anything from conjuring
Your whispering life lenses.
So fixed on finding my sleep again,
I forget how you lurk.
Standing in a thick of fog,
Your cryptic fingers trip me into this river
Of illusions and bone-eaters.
My life strings barely flutter on anything,
Let alone this now bitter wind.
You spoke of the end and
Said nothing at all.