A
Blackness
Condenses,
Digging into
Emptiness - a scar
Falling from the mountain.
Grasp, grasp for hold with a stiff
Hand, like a memory faded
Into a second past, frantic search
Juxtaposed with the slipperyness of
Killed memories' blood, covers anything with
Laquer, and if we don't find what we came here for,
Madness will take us, pull us down, define us, but with
No language, no sound, no form, only that fleeted scent that's
Owned by that evil sand-monster of time. We got a taste of
Produce discontinued, till maybe or maybe not it will rise
Quietly from the ashes like an apparition. But when we try
Reeling it in, we get back a hook empty of water, only filled with
Space. Something stolen from us by its memory. Skin, flesh and bone, all of
them
Torn from us under anesthesia, too deep to feel, by now we've woken up and
Understand there's something missing and oh if only we could just go back, go
back to
Valley, nameless and knownless, I just know it's a valley, a smudge between a
horn and a
Weeping river of frozen rips that pile like great heaps of sand, a desert of
disaction. Point
X lost as much as we, a part of our soul somewhere between and somewhere
in these all, and unknown
Y a junction and we go down both our arms that are chopped off at the wrist,
there's nowhere else to go but
Z, the very end of our journey, where we look at the red blooms of hands, and
we move on, with our brief day.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 5:45 PM UTC
A
Blackness
Condenses,
Digging into
Emptiness - a scar
Falling from the mountain.
Grasp, grasp for hold with a stiff
Hand, like a memory faded
Into a second past, frantic search
Juxtaposed with the slipperyness of
Killed memories' blood, covers anything with
Laquer, and if we don't find what we came here for,
Madness will take us, pull us down, define us, but with
No language, no sound, no form, only that fleeted scent that's
Owned by that evil sand-monster of time. We got a taste of
Produce discontinued, till maybe or maybe not it will rise
Quietly from the ashes like an apparition. But when we try
Reeling it in, we get back a hook empty of water, only filled with
Space. Something stolen from us by its memory. Skin, flesh and bone, all of
them
Torn from us under anesthesia, too deep to feel, by now we've woken up and
Understand there's something missing and oh if only we could just go back, go
back to
Valley, nameless and knownless, I just know it's a valley, a smudge between a
horn and a
Weeping river of frozen rips that pile like great heaps of sand, a desert of
disaction. Point
X lost as much as we, a part of our soul somewhere between and somewhere
in these all, and unknown
Y a junction and we go down both our arms that are chopped off at the wrist,
there's nowhere else to go but
Z, the very end of our journey, where we look at the red blooms of hands, and
we move on, with our brief day.
An abecedarian lanterne
