The Insomniac

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Submitted: April 19, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 19, 2018



The Insomniac


He polishes the traces

Of a malignant rainbow,

He will stay up all night

Listening to the saxophones squawk

Through his open window.

The music is breaking into stars

And emptying their contents,

He can hear the stellar rifts.

The stars are been emptied of light,

The light burns his pupils away to scar tissue.

Finally the light is burnt away,

His cliffs of pleasure are burnt away,

Messages are exiled from telephone booths,

Fingers dial unconnected numbers.

His eyes are burnt like the stare

Of extinct tropical animals,

Burning in heated corridors

Ablaze within a maze of vegatation,

In a collapsed afternoon,

Where he tries to sleep.

The light of a cigarette burns

Into his clear blind face.

The lights of the overhead planes chisel his thoughts,

As they approach through the mist and clouds.

He can hear the lights

Burning on the horizon,

He can touch the lights cracking

His window,

As the light of the serpent's eyes

Crawls and wraps

Its scaly growth

Around his veins.

















© Copyright 2020 tom mcmullen. All rights reserved.

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