This is hollow

There are spiders crawling in and out if this place
This is hollow
It's spitting smoke and tar through gritted teeth
this is hollow
It's a soft elegance of musk on dusted lids, behind which the worms grow,
the quick burn of slow slow decay in this hollow place, always hollow.

Oh for all the relics in the world there is something sweet, sickly, cacophanous

Choking with victory, benevolent with life
in this place that is hollow.
How slow, the quick quick time could drop by, still slathering as its eyes roll
as we all fall to its beauty

We have chained it here, this monster
With golden bolts and locks of obsession. Our very arteries embrace it
There are spiders crawling in and out of this place
This is hollow
A rising sickness with the fever, through its throat and to its mind
Upwards, like the tide to a lighthouse enamoured with its duty, depreciated.

This place is golden and oozing with decadence
This is hollow
It keeps up to fall behind, ever losing against the time,
All skin and bones, all nails and iron, still slathering as its eyes roll
And we break under its beauty

Sweet release, the exhaled breath is all but inky bruises
Under the pen, oh for all the relics you can see it in the eyes!
This wound is festering in the place that is hollow
Behind the eyes, where the worms grow
Keep time with the rising sickness and bite down a distancing hysteria
It is spitting smoke and tar through gritted teeth

And feel the show roll out as the mercury rises
To the place that is hollow
This is all face down floating in the sickness
Touch the poison where the worms grow,

It’s the eternity behind the eyes.

I feel a hysteria coming on like I'm diving and twisting into a sea of madness. I don't think I can stop with the poems.

Dear diary,
today I learnt the value of pressure.
Yours sincerely

The end of the end