Pain is the solipsist’s ultimate fantasy,
The dread light dreaming on hale darkly,
Like a sickness born from diseased rats
Let loose into the circulatory stream
Of an organism wondrous in the horror
It too oft indulges.
A system undying that feels as if it withers
Under the sensations crooning out cut rhythms
Of what hurts incessant, overactive signals
Streaming through the plasma blood aether,
The pulses broader than what they are,
Iron a steaming puddle dream.
Let fly the nightmares of agony, various
Creatures alive only in explosion, akin
To the bomb, living in the falling, never
Else other than to hibernate, honey made
In the skulls of demons, poisoned sweetness
Swarming as the enraged hive.