Intuition

Overwhelming dread

a quivering line

on the edge of my vision all the time

fine hairs moving at will

vomitous tension

burned out and rebuilt

over and over again

day in and day out

like waves

rolling over an ocean

of dry dead blades

constant vibrant blackness

Radiating from my pores

My eyes shining in the dark

walking through like noon time

Every time lips pulled apart

only puffs of smoke departed

even in my despair

I tried to sound the warning

the hour was far too late,

the explosion

was imminently incoming

no one but me

could hear my plea

Now I walk alone

through a dried up fetid sea

Searching

for any non-consumed identity

K.B. Silver