I pity those humans,
Who wish to find a soul
As rare as their own.

I pity those humans
Who rely solely on
Another's aplomb.

How could one
Become so callous
And indulgent,
An idolisation
Of the self,
Which does little to remain?

Their impressions are cogent;
Yet they lack the resolution
To form vessels
Of their own.

But as the pale moon
Floods my flesh,
Such pity recedes.

I am left with an
Overwhelming loneliness;
A sure addiction to
My own companionship.

Did I forge an entity
Never to be?

untimely orifice,
subtly trodden
on whetted stones.

an oasis of
nostalgia splurged
into your wake,
tissue plunging into
an indefinite praise.

the echo frayed
your form and
saturated your
sunken flesh.
a fissured whispering
of distinguished life.

even you knew more
about fluttering eyelids
than my mind could
sort to decompose.