the writhing night

twisted into the coils, that tighten
beyond limits known and unknown,
nighttime with tired energies
buckles the bones and branches of being.

writhing vines of veins
beneath the skin, wrapped
suffocating trunk
stands up, but only just.

flowers bloom the surface,
those mark of time, whose
tattoo breaks the surface,
letting out the blood,
creates a mess, and that which
comes next.

in the chimney noises
rise and for sweet moments
abate, so laid out, untouched
by this passing late hour,

rendered into paste,
how I was born,
and how I will return, one day.

the writhing night

uncleblack

Joined February 2010

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