Incoherence

It's this room; where

the furniture of comfort

has been rearranged.

The shelf of delusions,

warped by the crushing

weight of reality.

This ache, it's universal.

Manifesting destruction,

collapsing stars, every

atom torn from the inside.

The polarity between thought

and feeling—incalculable...

My pen bleeds on this

page, an attempt to

contain my dormant rage. 

The toothless jaws of

hope—masticate with

pernicious force.

Devoured by a thought

of you mishandling my

heart, you know it's made

of glass.

Desire transgresses

intuition, an odorless

sense.

I think, that when I think

about what I think, it only

makes me think...