A Nervous Room

I stand here in this shocked darkness with the lights scratching against the windows like the limbs of dead trees. There’s this kind of all over nervousness that pushes from my belly through the rest of my body, I close my eyes and see it shimmering like an aquamarine ocean of rippling foil. The sound of it quiets the walkers on the streets outside my window and folds around them like a conceptual origami.

Something so sick it can barely stand rubs against the door to my room, it’s coherence fading as if it were the artifice of some aged vitality portending the baptism of new disasters. I see it's thoughts like heat waves passing through the door and becoming absorbed into the bouquet of silk orchids they've placed on the desk.

White porcelain-like mask materializes in the darkness, within it's eyes the metamorphose of some radioactive flame gone mad with the appearance of a new gravity.

An army of hissing silver phantoms are shooting bones like bottle rockets from the cracked red cataract of their lifeless eyes. There is a stage as if in some arid theater upon which the bodies of men tumble in a phantasmagoria of broken limbs.

On a breathless beach a lover waits in the setting of the silver moon, and then the soft sound of curtains as the mad thing rushes in.