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In the last few silent hours,
  The final throes of night,
Enveloped by the sweet embalming darkness,
  Mere minutes before the pre-dawn,
My mind flutters steady, alert.

Entrapped and entwined,
  Up creeps the quelled horde of thoughts,
Images of foreboding, of my inevitable decline,
  My pitfalls and falters, failures and shames,
They bound up, up, above and over my mental enclosures,
  Pillage rape and steal, invade, oppress, and betray,
They subvert peace and calm, wherein my mind is wont to lie.
©2008-2009 ~Zylock
:iconzylock:

Author's Comments

I'm really bad at structure and rhyme. Pretty good at rhythm, I think. This isn't finished, yet it's as complete as it's bound to ever be.

And a tip: if you want to write something trippy or profound, stay awake until the hours of three and four A.M. while listening to acid techno and ambient. Keep your blinds open and watch the stars. If that doesn't do it, I doubt anything will.

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April 10, 2008
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