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Nocturn
When the eyes could no longer hold what’s brimming
and the fingers do nothing
but spread it on to what’s wrinkling.
When the voice is a strange thing
for the continuous vowels are worn out…shrieked at himself.
Then the narcissistic grin is all that gratifies the soul
which no one has ever come in contact with.
They speak of it when they’re broke
yet it’s broke too.
Escape is but a word.
You run,
but
the
eyes
of
the
rotten
follow.
To feed is luscious.
Just one night
when the god is asleep.
Let me feed.
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