I.
Ceiling fan

As I wander this empty house
With sins piling up on my mind
I gaze at the trees rustling in silence
While the sun beats down coldly
The wind drags ice hands across my face
And the ground trembles slightly
I lay on my couch and watch the ceiling fan spin
Around into a mystical circle
The dust settles in a myriad of shapes
And the inky black lake outside
Spirals in ouroboros
The sky is a vortex tonight
Inside, shadows are projected by flickering lights
And dance on the walls
And suddenly the world, with all its ambient peace
Its tiny battles and conflicts, its Sisyphean exercises in life and death and rebirth
Its everlasting entropy that wraps around us with loving arms
Turns grey and sideways and skewed and cold and dissonant
And utterly boring
And I'm left unable to distract myself from my own emptiness
The skin on my body folds into sharp corners
Daydreams taste sour
I spin around on the ceiling, lazy as a river

II.
Crawl Space

Love, and the world turns into colour too soon
Loquacious silence claims liquid deserts in monsoon
Smoke rising over scenic vistas and oceanic plateaus
The faint eerieness of the hills bid me adieu  
I'm freefalling again as I wander these empty hallways
The wind daydreams between my fingers and weaves into the curls of my tangled hair
Everything is a dark spiral
I'm hazily descending into the depths, stumbling awkwardly
The wintery embrace of the water wraps around my skin and chills me to the bone
The vivid blue stings into my eyes and worms its way into my brain
The walls are closing in around me
Waves of self obsession enclose me and drag me further
Self pity is a riptide
It's sands are filling my mouth like an hourglass
Tick tock, the mechanical pendulum swings back and forth
Across molten, half formed thoughts and angular dissonance
My pen numbly punches through my skin and I bleed the dark ink of my poetry
And float
drifting slowly
Quietly humming

I disassemble.