Suffocation

Brittled and frolicked along the edge of a twisted rope

Lying against this weft of broken vapours and swollen clouds

I have come to realize my inability

To grasp what it is

That clings to me

like some forgotten man

Off the glacial brims

Of sidled mounds

clings to himself

Yet indeed I see

What it is

That he mourns

Yet tugs on

So inexpressibly

That man of scorn

That man of boldened angst

That man of pure nothingness

How I wish I could persuade his grief

Just as the sky coaxes the horizon

Just as the wind strokes the grim of my hair

Just as the thought of thought coaches my feet along

closer to the edge

I could renovate my thoughts

Breathe logic into what it is that I adhere to

Gratify what it is that suffocates me and

Fills my lungs with some black tar drenched languor

Break down what it is that deluges

My thoughts so profoundly

So Fairly

Or so

As to truly

Allow itself

Ariality

Saccadence

Abreaction

Blood

Freedom

At the small cost of my own flesh.

And so,

I solemnly drip

And follow through

Wallow,

And misconstrue

What it means

To be alive: