A bizarre mirror, this is.
Pull apart and peer upon,
Old voids and worn wounds
They oscillate and abate:
These tapestries of dark delights,
volumes of expired frights,
glimpses of forgotten sights.
A monolithic mouth that devoured all that was and could have been.
These looming vestibules of rotten dreams,
blood red chambers of stale romance,
and the black box of broken pieces.
One day, we will forget all that we have seen.
I wonder if anyone of you have scratched,
With those feeble beetle nails
Have you scratched at the dirt of this earth?
Or do you just try and fail?
Did you find anything I have not?
Insect,
Let me know when you reach the top.

















