Chains

Away—my mind: afield the crops; and nothing listens the
Void; and we feature jewels: a faint distraction; and
Something sees, a puncture deep; and something scratches—
Flesh to bleed. I crawl through an attic far away; and

Wild malaise—screams and wails. Eczema flares: the nerves
Are hectic: the edge is wooing; and mudslides—damage the
Pillars; and something whispers: “a need to fly.” The
Joy: a flood of stars: the pain: vengeful: such awkwardness;

And we pace the sky. What is this riddle: a brook of petals;
And what is this beauty: a future scar. Such brilliant
Darkness: such mystic vaults; and something curdles: a thought
Of fever; and something breathes: a newborn thought. The
Tides are turning, and remain the same. The mind is growing,
And swims in chains.