Who’s Past?

Dry Ambient dark
A friend of ours
Through immaculate conception
Mother sitting afar
The Infant of the weakened blood
No bonds, the vampiric maternal drain
A Thrush-like irritant
Bacteria eating
Setting discomfort silence
A Virus, breaking tissue

Cut to the nerve
Disabled, warped figure
Sit alone, in darkness
The laugh, no humour
Never audible, but known
Drug piercing to mind
To hearts, damaging
Never needed, but there
It never comforts, but seen
Of a month-turn visceral flow

Acoustic friction, simplistic madness angrily juggling thoughts
Fragmenting the mortal soul
Deception, incurred
Darkness cracking through sunlight
Seated alone, scarring indelible to the true facet of ourselves
Conflicted by the reflection
A delirious stimulation of the ruined spirit
Eternal?, but never spoken.

Ian V. Seymour ©2012

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