He breaststrokes through the bogland, with a mind, twilight-kissed, thoughts too heavy to keep him adrift
So succumbs to algedonic toxicities, of wayward desperate diversions, yea, sly reality perversions
Breathing retribution when his face embraces the mire, beclouded, befuddled, malicious memories afire
A pyre, now his form, drawn to depths by the quag, his ensuant joy obscene, and then hope intervenes
The unwelcome host, turns his body afloat, treading conscious morass, he questions the violation, that it would harass
Then poses dead man in the heartland, with a mind in stark reverie, a nepenthean reprieve, ever destined for brevity
art: days by Peterio
