Jigsaw of a Shattered Soul

The old man's trophy, antlers impale my v i s c e r a l veins. Love, a moth's wings, ash-dusted, flutters its last in death's gnashing gullet. My soul—a charred fetus, longing and annihilation wrestle and thrash in the womb’s dark dilation... Terrible beauty claws poised—waiting to devour me w h o l e. Leaden sky crushes; bruising hues fuse, raining suffocating soot. V o id s // Vo r tex. Despair's dirk, a devouring dance, a mother's lullaby, heart's hollow thump— death's cold fingers tear at my tangled, torn, time-worn, tethered skin. This brief brutal ballet, a grace unplanned— I fade, a shadow's ghostly cry swallowed by the void. Root . Rot . Garden . of my dread, where life's incense chokes, angels fear to tread. Do poisonous black orchids bloom from ribcage . soil ? Fetid fetus, fate's fickle feast, blind to cruel snares, in death's throes, I birth my despair. Vo id's Vor tex. Shadows slither, serpentine, sinister in my fevered head, an ann- ihil- ation of . molten . red. Time's ruins, a palimpsest of shattered dreams, meaning slips; fingers bleed, heart torn apart. Womb's doom looms, consuming truths in life's guttering spark— journey through lands . cold . stark . dark. Endless roads where shadows start and dart. My mind, a hissing gas chamber of vertigo thoughts—falling apart. Persephone's hair melts—a Dali dreamscape of pomegranate seeds, dreams pursued where nightmares breed. Heart, a vessel of guttering light, in death's face, defiant, despite life's lost pieces— a j i g s a w bled of dread-filled V O I D. Voi d s . Vort ex. I a m . p e r P e n d I c u L a r, severed from l i F e— I would rather be dead, begging for cold Stonehenge courage for the h o r L z o n T a l of the g R a V e. The Voids . Vortex . g a p e s, a black, serpentine swirl, devouring light and . life, with primal, pitiless hunger, its spiraling d a r k ness writhes like a wounded beast, pulling me into its, R A W, r a v e n o u s c a v e.