October 9th, 2019

Updated: Nov 21, 2019

A withering venture of exhaustion of my soul into waking nightmares, a living comedy

Dante would fear; the shaking, the rattling, only pain I hear, depressing my mind into an

Emotionless gaze stared into an abyss no human has perceived leaving centuries of building

To my grave of Sorgen’s despair, not a choice nor a solution can rise my conscious beyond

Hauntings of battled fears never conceived in reality as I am lost in reflections disturbing

Bourdain in his grave with acts of destruction plaguing my body, imagery unrelenting,

Pulsing beneath my skin as hope and faith live in the realms of the white witch holding me to

My pain, as a story is told, the Greeks tragedy implore a greco-roman hold tightening the

Pains of my breaths as my existential existence ends in the darkness its phenomenology

Entails, a being in nothingness Jean Paul's story being told, just like before, nothing is new,

Just humans being humans, an experience I no longer know.


© 2019 by R. Cary