Something, I Think

Something is said to crawl under the skin of select stimulant users,

Something adjunct to the platitude of that transient, metaphysical tonnage

Supplied by Eve’s delicious apple as it falls

From her womb, fecund, imbuing the soil of the Eden we find ourselves in,

Mouth agape,

Silent and lacking something, something,

Something subliminal, visceral,

Lurking overhead like a double consciousness that floats softly

And contains a dismal presence of ourselves,

Insatiable, yet full to the brim of every last moment cast in a black shadow

Of time we can’t believe as truth

To agonize the last waking seconds of something, something,

Something we describe as life,

Or reality in a fish bowl of transparent ether denied to be seen

And wholly realized when it drifts above the mind

We find ourselves occupying in incompetence

Without a song, limerick, or rhyme;

Instead, mouth agape,

Screaming an abyssal void into an echo

Reverberating through the walls of some fool’s history

Scribbled on a wall of limestone and seashells

To be packaged in tiny capsules of cellulose and crime.