Those moments will catch you by the neck
And strangle till you turn blue.
That moment will pull up a haze
You will not be able to wipe clear in time.
The grease will not let go
Slipping you into oblivion.
Solace and solitude will be just trophy words,
Whose meaning will be lost.
Gone are the days as memory stays
And you question, what are they but just strings of neurons mating
Yet, grease will not let go
As you slip into oblivion.

True black is the color
That will soothe you
As cicadas crawl under the skin
And macabre eases you.

Looking through that hazed pane,
As you frantically try to clean them,
Scene outside will remain a gaussian blur
And last drop of blood will turn red from Blue.

As you sit in the black
In a corner of the room
With hazed windows,
you try to put together
With the left hand,
What’s left
While rubbing the grease
Off your right hand,
And you will discover
The puzzle has changed,
And pieces are missing.
You will try to etch the
Missing pieces on the floor
With your nails
But it turns into a bloody gooey mess
Just like this rant without a rhyme.

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