Nox Atterrima

The agony of a poor soul is more than the grip of dementia. Beyond cognitive dysfunction. It is the darkest night.

Left out here in chaos

Scratching the walls

of oblivion

Cold as hell, hot as heaven

Pointblank visions

Now in a blur.

My head itched

for something.

Convulsive notions

of love and animosity

Vague.

I grasp with hands in palsy.

I pray, rescue me

For I am

Fragile as crystal

frigid as ice.