~in the Absence of Reality~

When cacophony drizzles through razored defence and silica devolves to radical flight; regressing reflections, remembered absence, with no passion for self inflicted contrite. When each subtle arc shrouds the ragged offence like a lovers hand when it becomes to tight, and the ladder we ascend always goes down, deep in the shallows, abstract visions we drown of realities war; what we think we see, when six cruelly curdles to manufacture eight, we dash china valleys with ejected scree before layers of failure can procreate, and like the sculptor we struggle to set free the beauty that hides below imagined weight. No matter the mirror; calculated lies, our best is when we cover our eyes.