melellendixon

Iteration Plague

Distortions litter my skin

Yet after each deliberate mark

I’ve convinced myself they don’t exist

Bodies soak my past

Yet every recollection

Has been burned

Eccentric spectrums surround me

Yet every onlooker

Fails to decipher the meaning

And each chromatic wall

Warps my own memory

Leaving me to wonder

Who has replaced the host this time?