End Credits

It is spent and falling into a crumpled heap,

we must not look away for it is essential,

this decay, this abstraction of organisation

that claws at our fallacies of security.

They came with the crisp chill

of the morning, wreathed in horror

and stinking of lust,

with chattering teeth

they gnawed at the bars...

And I am alone now, in darkness

my arm tracing the course of an imaginary clock;

tick, tock; the space between

as long as you want it to be,

a second or millennium,

the spell has riven time and dispersed

that course dimension,

what remains offers no definition

and my senses have become blunted stems

that are growing back into me;

the formless me that has emerged

from the catacomb of my body.