This twisted sandman
strangles the sleep
of the guilty mind.
The over-exposed cycle
the why conjoined with I.

Persists, persistant, perspire.

He self-develops in your spine.
In black shadows, as he
dredges through memories
and dredges through memories
and dredges through memories.
All recalled, and in pain
sorted, distorted, and wrought anew.

But never quite to
a wholly dissonant cognition.
For these prints
These prints hold images
impossible to crush
or cast aside.

For there he stands
in his and your own dark room
in screaming defiance of the false.

The light thrown on
He smashes your funhouse mirror
and chemical-burns your closed eyes.