Of (W)hole Sutures

“When you speak, it is silent. When you are silent, it speaks”

I lived on the dread of the depth of every good and ill that enslaved my will

I lived with.in a (st)ill image that portrayed reality as an obscure security

I lived yet still de(n/f)ied the calamity that chronically displayed profanity

I lived in a morbid sta(g/t)e, virtually nil — devoid of vortex’s thrill

Eyes that see through the brute and brutally misconceived

Until an Ouroboros of a trap conspicuously devoured this tail of mishaps:

A trap that relieved my knees from the sensation of the weak;

Uncovered the concrete’s deceit — the (ethe)real disease of conceit

A (s)trap that revealed the holy in abyss and shed light on the sole catharsis;

Discovered the dawn buried beneath the (s/t)oil of darkness

The ripples of dawn numbed the f(r)ail, forming deflections out of every (dev/n)otion that prevailed

In its reflection, tears dripped on my mind’s periphery like dew

In pursuit of the brute that resides within void’s roots, I found nein but comfort in the misconstrued

For through its lightness, I saw all that my fears (sur)rendered to no avail

I was confounded by the immaculate beauty in death and the distortion that resounded in its silent breath

The hole veiled the real(ity) and cradled my mind with a harness of sheer serenity

And in its sutures, I found, the future denounced to mere obscenity.

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