To mindlessly wander the barren aisles,
To perceive the reverberated murmurs from days of yore.
The cache extends for miles on miles,
Pallid shelves laden with a scent I abhor.
Anomalies eclipse into the thin static film,
That envelops this reserve of aberrance.
The chance of lucidity proves to be rather dim,
Though the animated static sets a tone of inherence.
Clocks that have no dauphines; a polaroid of white matter.
Ashy cremains pervade a jar made of cation,
Listen closely, indistinct chatter.
Reminisce, remnants of a confabulation.
Entities secrete within the trinkets they assuage.
Even my deformities need forms of consolation.
Up my throat I feel segments of a phage,
A myriad of a hysterical convulsion.