Solipschism

Refused, through the bough And the Godhead is lopped From the straining trunk. From the knots of fingers. I’ve fed you plates Piled high with my lights. You cough, you laugh You leave. The mind is a prism And words, rain blown And bruised on the bars. Deadman walking. An affectation of effluence Shemfully painting sagas on skin. I’ve fed you plates Piled high with my lights. You cough, you laugh You leave. Month by creaking month A nail width closer to Christage. The constant in the chaos The I in every storm. Drawn together, one of Life’s sicker tricks. Sever the heartstring And run raw in the world. I’ve fed you plates Piled high with my lights. You cough, you laugh You leave. In every Dreamhome A Hearth ache. In every Dreamhome A heart attack. A shamejawed, gutsucked silouhette I’ve fed you.

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025

In the tangles of skein And myth’s warped weft Minutes taurn and twisted Now corrosion’s jet cloak. On the hide of each finger The architect’s callus Horned by choice, Erases whorl and world. Ravelless and tin-tined Even meanings are lost. Dead-ended and blind in Seven of uncounted circles Confusion Hides the hole of its heart.