Personality Disorder, or Eurynomos, King of Flies

by Falconhead

Grey matter-eater. Winged and serpent tongued,
your hot voice—a lullaby of wails. How you de-

scend from air. Stir the blood in the ear. Your
saliva on the conch of sound, down the shell as

a snail. And with your piss-yellow gob, you in-
fect the network there. The nerves and veins

they tear, and like wild hothouse vines rise and
fill the crawlspace there. And when I wake, if

ever I do, the mind is like the limbs, askew. For
you have gone, so that I might breathe and see

that it was I in the room. In the mirror, flies gad-
ding at the mouth. My own flesh on the tongue.

And, if I do take myself, it will only be to sleep.
To sleep, to sleep — how you elude...