of snails and turmoil

time is an ouroboros
certainty a myth
emotion is the tinder
her gaze became the spark
the blue flames rush
eager to consume
the timbers
of justification
leaving only whirling mists
in ancillary meaning.

buried deeply
beneath the whims
of sufferage
deep in the recesses
of angular precision
sits a solitary mass
by insubstantial rumors
amid the darkened

vacant instances
scurry to and fro
along the exposed
ocular nerve
basking in unadulterated
regimented sorrows
leaving mucus trails
like cannibalistic snails
slowly moving towards
the bloody remains of the day.

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