stuck in a vortex,
a void devoid of any voice

a noise poised in a pause,
lost in thoughts,
caught in a rot,
making pretty children
out of clay,

hold your breath
don't run,

there's an ugly
out break far away

stay inside and keep warm
slay in style and feed worms

delay the sky from
deliverance, and seed storms,

so that the black eye
and the black dye

can read between the lines,
of all the things in my mind

dreams and memories
howl the most,

between sharks and owls,
i stay awake,

in the forests, by the trees,
beneath the oceans,
under siege,

and i wonder
i wander
for the famine to leech
and bleach away the surface

the complex layer,
that ever was,

and cradle me
in the depths of its conscious

where even the simplest
of universe makes sense,

not like this room
here, and her cold walls

not like the empty chair,
questioning an existence

nor the winds, that screams
against the window,

this grey and moist
and cold and ugly
and away and destroyed
and sold and ***** place,
keeps a face

in the mirrors,
and its peoples

with arms, legs and hearts

made to catch me
and latch onto me,

between smoke and
the vapour
bleeding me dry,
as i lie to myself

that it's only on the paper.