drifting through the aether

poetry and writing. sideblog of thyarcanist

[cosmicsearcher]

It burrows deep into the mind,

Burrowing and burrowing,

Further as it burrows through matter,

In the borough of the mind,

Of labyrinth like streets,

It sets a hold and festers,

Rotten buildings of memories,

It replaces of it's own, until you,

Yes, you can only think of it --

It's whatever rots in the creases,

An idea, a person or a thing!

Heck, it can even be a zing --

A jingle of some kind.

But only for a time,

It'll change the building to suite,

The rot is a parasite with intent,

Dopamine and serotonin,

All flavors of the mind,

That rot reenthusies,

For days, weeks or maybe a few months,

Fixated on that rot,

Heck. well, maybe it ain't all bad,

Brain rot can be fine.

[cosmicsearcher]

[cosmicsearcher]

"Fall asleep in the park, underneath all the stars -- in silence -- here we are, reminded of how we're doomed."

"The Epilogue" by Crosses

[cosmicsearcher]

"I'm like a ghost, just floating here. This love won't heal at all."

"The Ghost" by Trevor Something

[cosmicsearcher]