still and consumed

my body –

a sepulcher of

untidy thoughts

hasty pulses were

never meant

to be caged

behind twenty four

interlocking bars

in the hollowed

trunk of the chest

but panic has

a tendency

to slip out

in bunches of lilies

at the inkling

of mortality

ashes of cells,

flaming images

of disillusion

and fear

and fear

and fear


from a

murky mind

fossilizing driftwood

into lignite

at extreme pressure

anxious and shaking

my body –

writhing away

in distress

from necrosis

from thanatos

from oblivion