Starve me, crush my tongue
and deplete the red intention
and I will drift the way of the old dust.
Boiling sweet blisters into my head
and oozing bile into eyes already grey with dreams and demons.
Inept as rosy fawns and dull as the cracked sky,
I see our mirror in swirls of dark gas while vision and speaking fail.
No prophet.
No seer, and without science, I discover, as all that was and is
Collapses reeling in purple bursts of glorious cacophonic vitriol –
Screaming and screaming our names into the void.
And I strain to hear and shudder at the cost.