Mad fish
short dashes of mindlessness
clutter the brain
rendering death to ganglia once sparking;
atrophy ensues,
clouding
the senses in a haze of false smoke.
stalks and half-pursuits,
and endless deluded notions of greatness
fill the dreadful echoes
of emptiness
withering
as one grasps for air underwater and drowns.
then fades of black
not yet dark, but still.
(if one could flutter like
butterfly wings,
a storm will rise some place
far.)
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