Languid in a Brick Box

each second, the last

every beat, before unknown

now bloody and choreographed

appreciation blossoms

then wilts in cycles


the organ jumps

the body shivers

preceding words held


mouthing things

never stealing

on edge

til’ the end

there is no doubt

when alone

3 replies on “Languid in a Brick Box”

It didn’t seem like hypochondria to me. Sounds pretty legit. Regardless from whence it springs then, the suffering is real, tangible, hey? This just occurred to me. Groovy.

Whether real or imagined the pain is still relevant, no? Still unpleasant.

Very nice poem. đź’‹

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