My edges spill unbidden down
A hillside swarming with nettles.
They gather in forgotten places,
In snatches of penumbra.
I’ve seen it all with nothing between.
Ghosts worship in a stringent chorus.
Patches fail to conceal their truancy,
They are exhaust and ectoplasm.
The air in my lungs sharpens
To a shriek, I will never forget,
The exact spot where I died
Broken by my own menace.
On another note I am really struggling to keep up and catch up right now