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Nightmare Wringing Sweat Alarm

A blackness, pure thick and silent

penetrates to the diaphragm

bashing against these stoic rocks of sleeping attention.

I keep staring at the thing

that I would consider an equal

and it laughs at me

not knowing what else to do.

A gila monster looks intently at me

and I see the naked contempt…

it turns into a gas station clerk

and I begin to panic

as I give her my change.

She tells me to have a nice day

in a colorless monotone

and changes remorselessly into a statue.

The scene burns into my eyes

and the smell of rotting bird corpses

and cotton candy taunts me,

a little demon hand

motions come hither.

The balled up passions and pressures

beat upon my back, hysterical bats

all demanding asylum and ransom.

This sand under my feet

has been waiting for centuries

for me to walk upon it

and now that I have, it doesn’t matter.

Visions of coffins and laughing faces

spent cartridges and phlegm

purple lollipops and burnt chicken.

Then I look up and see the screen.

Vertigo and dancing…spent

completely spent.

NOW we can begin.


5 4 3 2 1… a ringing.


Published inMain


  1. NB NB

    in my mind, i was shifting psychedelic scenes one after another.. I wouldn’t say it’s vivid, rather it’s LIVING..

    “A gila monster looks intently at me

    and I see the naked contempt…”

    that was the part when I knew I’m reading a masterpiece.. amazing!

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