Time scrapes
Dragging its pointed
Second hand
Across my corneas
Blurring my vision
Taking my eyes out
For another season of woe.
Tideless and saltless
An empty sea lays still
And all I can hear
Are the echoes
Of a hollow shell
Held to a broken ear.
A feather,
Soft and pure,
Feels like steel wool
Pressed firmly against
Fragile epithelial cells,
With my broken pores
Letting the light in
In broken shards.
Touch turns to blistering burns
Sight turns to blinding pain
Hearing turns to deafening silences
Taste turns my tongue to molten lava
Smell turns to dour odours.
My senses were never so heightened
As they have been
In our aftermath.
I’m tender in the wake of you.
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