In the dead
Black night.
The thick ink
Cloud of the dark
In The swirling syrup, left in
The squid's retreat.
They came for me.
Slender silver ghosts,
Small streams of smoke.
Into my ears.
And throat.
Snakes of remains
And worms,
Of the past.
Haunted,
They swim my life,
Taking what they wish,
Stealing chrome cast memories,
From the back of my eyes.
Screaming they pass,
The thin of my ear's drum.
To bury and nest,
Among the rich hate
Of a mind.
Joyful,
Of an easy mark,
A broken gate.
Twisting to and forth,
In the sheer of their path.
Lining up to feed,
Among familiar souls.
The tired and true,
The odd collection.
Into the next set of sleep.