not exactly poetry...
Taste the earth. Press your tongue into the dark, fertile soil. Feel the vibrations of the melting oxygen around you, as it peels away to reveal a new dreamlike hyperreality. This is the way it should be. This is the way it will be, forever.
And yet slowly, methodically, your limbs, your joints, begin to stiffen, a coagulation creeping towards your center. Suddenly, cold; the dream dulls with the thudding of darkness upon an unfeeling back. A momentary sense of hysteria languidly morphs into a pervasive, inanimate ache. As if something that used to be taken for granted was no longer there, and not quite forgotten. Yet not quite remembered, either…
Utter silence bears down, heavy and imperative, demanding the cessation, the crushing, of your thoughts. Not now, not yesterday, not ever, it doesn't say. Never again.
In your vacuous inbetween, you emit a nonexistent sigh from nonexistent lips, from a nonexistent being. A(nother) little flicker of nothingness, easily forgotten. Just as easily replaced.
And outside your little corner of inbetween, the dark, fertile earth writhes with worms.
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