she stared at me
from the eyeholes
of a raven’s skull
the beady little eyes
of the mice
in the walls(and as i fell through the subdermal retractionary physics of a wormhole to the ass end of intergalactic redundance)

i could hear her voice
in the scratching branches
on the frost covered
window pane
in the screeching winds
vacant buildings(folding in upon myself over and again until the space between who i was and who i had become became fluid)

and in the secular silence
of her stark
utterly disapproving
the isotopical spray
from her
chernobyl smile(there is a shade of red exactly the same as the instant the silver nail of truth pierces the third eye of youth)

yet when i woke
she was not there
as if she only existed
in the stagnant dreampiss
that seeps
empty hearts(it was there in that flash frozen moment of volcanic emotional discharge it all fell together in pieces of souldander)

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