Necrotic Narcotique

Time and memory, are to me a dense mist

I sift through, realizing neither.

I see the shapes of things, then people and

then my own.

And as these shapes became the wraiths of

men in their prime,

I wept inside, with a heart burdened with

the consequences of its action.

Every flowing thought is corrosive and

rancid.

Mind’s pipes; thought’s acid.

In the wake of this state of superior stupor

I called upon myself to slip into my own

uncharted depths.

Under and back, there was nothing there in

the bliss that I sought.

Rationale invalid, I peered through my

soul into the out.

There are no reasons here, no wants or

haves.

My body’s just a cup; it’s my sanity that

fills it.

It’s not complete when it’s full,

It is when it isn’t.

This is no cliché, I might add.

I die every moment now when I’ve had.