Lasting is the haunting lament in the wind.
Gripping the muscles in spasms.
And hate.
The tourniquet is holding the viscous demon at bay.
Only the rabid nature beckons all the more.
This smile is one of pain.
Casting a redundant image into the film reel.
Called perception.
Just as the mirage fades.
Does walking in circles make sense.
Only to find the room is so much smaller now.
Stripped of valor.
Can one sense what always seemed to lurk right behind the eyes.
And just as the ringing attains piercing volumes.
Splintering the very ground.
Shattering the existence that was said to be so precious.
Ironically the only one dancing is my shadow.
A jester in the fading mist of memory.