dream vandals

i am consumed
by the constant nibbles
of my own
fleeting mortality
unable to sleep
drifting between
haunted sepulchre
and hated soliloquy
the marble dust
clings to sweat soaked skin
as i carve
a last unread verse
before sliding down
six feet beneath
the ground that remained
indifferent at best
to my every movement
shoulders ache
from digging the trench
of twisted roots
and blind maggots
exhuming my own corpse
as the rot reduces
the will to give

all i know is that
when i finally succumb
to the disease of life
no one will know
until they come to
evict me from this hell
another dead poet
bloated and crawling
with blowfly larva
the last lines stillborn
on a blackened tongue
unmourned by a world
already looking for the
next big nothing

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