Oblivion (The Last Trip)

The furthest from the center you’ve ever leaped
Out in static-charged space where thought and color meet
These feelings aren’t real, just moments on a ride
Ripped squirming and bulking from a red, salted tide
Feel it pulse through your crown, and rush down your chest
Screeching between clots of pulp and raw subconscious

Head erupts in a torrent of rushing vision
Shakes the ground and the trees, bursting like fission
vaporizes your threadlines, rips apart your web
bashes your skull, spreads the blood across bread
paints a beautiful mural, but you’re too pained to discern
this board of scribbles and sorrow and mangled concern

Put a bullet between my eyes, tear me in half
Can’t stitch up this blanket, can’t sucher this gash
It won’t go back in, it won’t blink away
These spirals and dark spots won’t fade into grey
Each moment lingers too long, the whispers soon follow
Of the stones all unturned, echoes ring true, and hollow

You reach for the sun’s warmth, grasp for the thing
that will pull you back through the wormhole
and help you forget what you’ve seen
because there’s no end to this tunnel
or the way your skin crawls
the daggers that stab through your veins
and slash up the gauze

Bleed out til you’re empty
then bleed out again

into oblivion.

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