a prophecy

slither
past my bedroom door
feel the cot wither
defile my pots and pans
with blackness

sickness brewed
by brick walls
the long mans
coat is full
of fog

to get lost amidst
the elements
and wail
a barking dog
a sense of perception
is forming
I feel a turning
cog

and my mind stops performing
the moment you're gone
im lost
to a sequence
hidden
attacking me
bedridden