Rippling rifts summoned twice on Tuesday’s evening tone
I heard a story once asking where I went stillborn
Phantasmic fingers that graze my every collarbone
Grasping leaves in my hands just to have them torn

My limbs flail around with no sense of control
My heart beats fast knowing that it cannot fail
The hiss of water as I drip it into the embers of coal
Wondering what if I dip my hand in, I inhale

I tend to think I live my life around a pit of fire
Silver, white maggot laying beside me in bed
I never thought my life would end up in a state so dire
Simple black edges tracing the edge of lead

Restitution is thankless prostitution during supper
Rituals moved on from absent expressive cries
Bodiless hands move forth unto fervent horror
Tippy, toppy, floppy ploop — and he dies