Fragments of Porcelain

Fragments of porcelain lay broken on the floor

the teacup's contents seeping slowly toward the

rug at the center of the room as it slowly darkens

with the liquid like the blood bleeding from my eyes

laughing bursts of pain and periodical spasms of hands

thrashing out for the feel of an assault on the senses

and the second moves faster, the second second faster still

this is the end, and this is the end of the world

so it begins

for fonts of quicksand for the irreversable baptism

able to stare straight into vectors and reach back in time

there... right there... in that point I blindly see...

that is where that particular memory is stored.

(?:H:14:40:45|17.3.011:Y:?]©c.thomas.carter