Crevices hold
The truth that day,
poisonous mold
was like indivudual
nylon strands of
spider’s web,
bodies devoured,
brushes and showered,
emitting a light show
in each filiment,
Win, a high held chin
it is my turn signal grin
non sparingly,
strewn across the room
spilling into every
corner these morsels intake,
Oh, what taste
alive with electrical decay,
chit chattering
my teeth,
Such dull gums paranoid insanity,
Imagination pretends to fake
past repetitive
arrangments of
up down strokes,
as I grow old, decay, one day I
would like to see stability,
until the sparrows
clawed away
at the flesh on my face
and dug their claws between
my teeth.