Poetry

Poem: Blackest Night

Blackest Night

The Blackest Night Beckons.
It enslaves my every fiber with the chains of solitude
and pulls me into a vortex.

The air is stagnant; polluted.
Molecules of thought float above my head
expanding into the surroundings.
Cognitions slam against the mirrors
then reflect with a mighty bound through my eyes
into every axon on every neuron of the body.
I am an entity composed of electrical signals.
Electrical signals that sometimes hurt.
In Blackest Night they claim a power to keep me floored.
Existence, in this moment, is a joke
because of these electrical signals
whose patterns erupt at 800 pulses a second into a collision with my well being.

Existence, in this moment, is a joke.
The Blackest Night Beckons.

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