the many suckered
tentacles
of existence
pull at my rather
tattered soul,
the void is
just an inkblot
sprayed in
haphazard schisms
projected
across the sky
-i am done
ill consumed by
self administered
vitriol flavored
ignorance strands
dripping from
over stimulated
salivary glands-
blue rings dart
tiny kisses of
deep paralysis
settling down
into the silt
a razor edged
bed of broken
promises carving
odes to tomorrow
into the yielding
flesh of today