[Cenotaph] [Verisimilitude] [Periphraſis] Circumlocution] and a prolix life ["the after math of meaning. A lifetime finished between the space of two frames. The dark line where the eye persists in seeing what was never there To begin with"] [

I'm so sorry.

[
 Trepanned-
  [and all
breaks

down.

]
I don't intend to be for long.

All my words are empty now. I have none left. I can't keep thinking this hard. I want to drive a nail into my brain. [...
This constant intempesta nocte
and the dismal lurid phosphenes clouding my retina
]Lembre-se desta noite, pois ela é o início da eternidade.

My breaths are all exhalations
an unending expiration squeezed out beneath the jagged backs of collapsed dwellings.

My ribcage is distending or ingrown and biting into myself

and I've long since stopped bleeding.
I'm just dry now. All dried up. Or drowned. I don't know because I don't feel.

Doubled over myself;
Older than anything
Not seen.
Even s[i]miles must go.


I don't feel
I don't hope
I don't know
I don't.                                                                                                                                      Noli me-

The grass between my  fingers is ash now. The soil is Dust. The trees are all stumps and black weeds.
Eventually they aren't even that. Well - they just aren't.


The room is utterly empty. The is gone.The tiles in the hall are chipped and yellow. They prickle with the sound of someone sobbing around a corner. But which corner you don't know.

Somewhere
A family of threads are convolved
over and over and over and over.


Pills are drowned.
There's one more cure. More of a treatment really.
[tourniquet
To wrap tight around something that was

]                 Severed
so long ago. So so long
that you never knew until the blood dried up
or ran out.
Enough to last decades and now it's banished. Displaced. Started [st]reams somewhere else you'll never ever really see - just the mirage before it, the wavering air. Shimmering.[
I see now how]
one thing can hold the wound. One last habit lets go.

The first habit you ever make. The last habit to ever break.


Enough going in circles. Enough coiling. Some ends have been knotted like mandrake roots while others are saved for the coagulation.

I know I can piece this one last thing together. At least I know that final meaning. Or I'm about to. Or I'm not going to about to ever again, [n]ever mind if I never had to begin with. So I guess it's been over a while.
[
Prolepsis.

I don't know how] to finish [this all
[


so] I'll just stop