Parasomnic sunset

Twenty miles from the beach; cracked and towering cliff

The spitting sister ocean, she’s pondering  “ What if?”

A shot of bottled whisky merely agitates my gut,

An antisocial symptom of my psychoactive rut

Now hair slithering in my back, knotting ‘round my spine, 

Sealing in the rancid blood, ripening the wine.

Ten knives in my back, smoldering my veins

Ten corks in the cask, withering the reins

I simply sag and loll, slipping through the ground

And, in rebirth, there are no former traces 

Found

A moroseness envelopes all that once was me

A thrumming mist of thought that brims the surface of the sea

There’s flies mangling my will, woven in my sight 

Not breaking down my soul, but tarnishing the light

The faintest bloom of passion molts a rancid pustulation

My frigid brain seems to forget the faintest kind sensation

Yet once I wake, upon the night, a terror in my eyes

The face I see reflected looks quite normal as it cries 

The feelings in my chest are real, and grounded to my plight 

I’ll simply rest and try again, and hope to lay to rest an existential fright