The Tunneling
The whispering carvesa question into my ear-
one may think that whispers
are soft things, and perhaps
if one were sitting sweet and alone
that might be true,
But these are not soft things
These are jagged splinters
shards of mirrored glass
smashed and balled up in the palm,
twisted and stuffed in the ear;
crystaline snakes
that work their way in and out
of the surface of my mind
Where once there was brain,
now there are walls
And the question?
Well, I've long forgotten
But it really doesn't matter
The tunneling has taken its toll
Diary by R.W.S.
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Written on 2024-02-18 at 00:14
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