Of the Eye

I can't describe it;
I'll never be able to.
Everything in my life

like un-recognizable stuff
hidden under a cotton blanket.

Gnawing sounds from
the floorboards as if
the wood is eating itself.

Who wants to know
on a sunny day, they are
just minutes from shipwrecked?

Here we struggle between
denial and death. Shuddered
windows, a small arrow of

light that makes its way
through the quivering eyelid.

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