fungal jungles in decline

a sickly green
tinged absinthe abyss
pulsating morbidly
around the gleaming
ruins of crumbling
dreamspires jutting
from the shattered
roadways of this
calamity of beauty
a fungal jungle of
creeping tendrils
suffocating the light
from this hopeless
blight of shimmering
chasms in clotted wonder
blanketed in silence
wrapped tightly in
spidersilk to dull
the softly shifting
strata of sublime
surrenders saturated
in solipistic sighs

i die a little more
every morning spent
in sleepless dismay
an amateur cartographer
mapping insular hells
searching for an exit
from these circular
fallacies leading only
farther from the sun
splintered divinity
driven through these
bleeding hands reaching
into the razored maw
of eternal damnation
where heartfelt need
is a golden stream of
drunken piss dribbling
over broken promises
of paradise in stasis


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