Reflections distort,
But can only see me,
Obscurity and fractures
Named for former
Promised lands
Are fragments more
Than thorns alone,
Identity thrusts against
Walls and bleeds
Into echoing margins
Conquering, killing me
Amongst divided hours
While lacerations
Play their part, I wait
For inspiration to engulf,
Will I drown corrupted
Between the soft tissues
Of cerebrums longings?
Who will notice automatic
Flames blazing
From the barrel?
The smoking gun
Traced the kill shot
Through eloquent minds,
The words and worlds
Are lost, spent, swept
Away with flowing dreams
Grotesque and marred,
The secret service
Of subconscious damaged,
Spoilt fruit and bile,
Lost within the sea
Of nothing other than me.
Neural disintegration,
Like waves devotions,
Hold me to warmth
Born anew…

© Phen Weston 2014

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