The Descent

Drowsy vertigo thoughts losing their substance in the spirals of deafening maelstrom black waters, my letters—my ruins—my Sodom becoming the cries that never reach bottom— —never reach bottom— never reach bottom— now becoming both absence and presence, lurking among their ashen, disintegrating essence. The stubborn nails doomed in this sinking box restoring their vileness, those rotten thoughts somehow find themselves looking up— looking up— looking up— dizzily, dismally, dishearten by the luminance never again to be reached— absence and presence and eminence engulfed. In time, Mnemosyne alone witnesses the damned parts of me die.