Distraught,
Destroyed,
Dis,
embodied.
My halls,
The walls,
my wicked falls turn'd from stone,
dissolved to nary a diffid tone thrown by bastard bones.
An amorphous form born from the aimless mourning that now has no space to face and call my own.
Telltale swarms of which I myself did warn would come,
Once and again I crumble from what once which I would succumb.
Myself. Dear. Gone.
I am,
afloat in limbo forever struck with what,
I Left only to silence my mind until once again,
I would find the cut.
...
Page 2
My totality revised,
Scratched through like the words unworthy.
Smoothed over the rough draft,
Autobiography progressive,
Nary writing another day's pages.