This is one of the many nights
that I close my eyes to see,
sitting still to hear the silence shout against
my almost broken eardrums.
This is one of them; sublime and slake
with salt mined from the ore of tears,
I walk silently over the facade of a loneliness
as old as the bones of martyrs killed from a battering
and contagious solitude, tears are words,
dissolved in water, aqueous and acidic and burns
like liquid flame ignited from the matchstick of an unnamed gloom.
This is one of the nights that I think with my heart,
allowing my mind switch place with an unknown beast
out there in the jungle, angry at fate, prowling,
waiting to pounce on the shape-shifting foggy future
that only come out at night like a nightmare.
This is one of the many nights my blood solidifies
and my bones melt down like wax,
owls appearing like doctors at my emotion-crash-scene
to pronounce me dead.