I am the tingle

I am the tingle

In an open wound

Every nerve raw

The tiniest sound

An assault

On the ears

The expectation

Of ending

An explosion

Of colour

A myriad of burning suns

An optic nerve

Irradiated

By the blindingly obvious

A reference to die for

In the conversation

Of a poet

Of little consequence

Unable to distinguish

Between one rhyme and the next

Darkened by doubt

Someone caught

Between breaking in

Or out

Of a life in death

Splintered uni-verse

Macrocosm

Of disbelief

As a slow drip feed

Of self-loathing

Is drained in exsanguination

Devoid of the spirit

To break free

In a bloodless coup

Displaced in

A boundless void

An endless despond

Lost in essence

Of the familiar