The ceiling is not the firmament, it is dark rock, and in that fissure, an unblinking eye stares at me, I am not a man, I am a particle in his sigh of yesterday.
Where time bends like a metal spikeñ, Muscle tissue holds the memory of the icy chill of receding planets, And the shriek that comes from the hollow of an empty skull.
Is the whisper of a divinity that has lost its pulse, There is something that eats from the depths of the chest: An orifice that widens beneath the darkness of the chest.
And calls to the void with the name of a mirror.
