Shatterglint Hymns in a Bent Abyss #poetry

shatterglint—
a scream bends backward through
the throat of a mirror,
not reflecting but
refracting
into splintered tongues
licking the edges of
a hollowed-out Now.time is a jellyfish
stinging itself into knots,
tentacles of seconds
slapped against
the windshield of perception—
splat!
splat!
splat!
and the wipers
are broken,
smearing yesterday
into a greasy tomorrow.listen:
the sound of a clock
eating its own hands,
gnashing gears
like a dog with a bone
it cannot bury—
tick-tock becomes
tock-tick becomes
t i c k
t
o
c
k
and then
silence
chews the room alive.i saw a shadow
wearing a coat of flies,
buzzing hymns
to a god
made of rust and receipts—
it danced
on the ceiling
with no feet,
a pirouette
of absence
spinning
s p i n n i n g
until the walls
grew dizzy
and vomited plaster
onto the floor.words bleed here—
not ink but
something thicker,
something
that smells of copper
and regret.
“hello” drips
into
“hell-o”
into
“h e l l
o”
and the o
is a mouth
swallowing
its own teeth.a tree grows
upside down
in my skull,
roots clawing
through the soft meat
of memory,
branches
dangling
into
the abyss
of my throat—
it whispers
in a language
of sap and static,
“you are
the echo
of a sound
never made.”glassine—
not glass,
not quite,
but a sheen
that bends light
into a fist
and punches
the retina raw.
i look through it
and see
not me
but
a swarm
of mes,
each one
a little more
unraveled,
a little less
human,
a little more
smoke
curling
from a fire
that forgot
how to burn.the sky
is a bruise
today,
purple and tender,
weeping
raindrops
that taste
of salt
and battery acid—
i catch them
on my tongue
and feel
my cells
sizzle
like bacon
in a pan
of cosmic grease.a voice
(not mine)
crawls
out of the radio,
crackling
like cellophane
wrapped
around a scream—
“the end
is a circle
is a square
is a line
is nothing
is everything
is
is
issssssssssss—”
and then
static
swallows it whole.i write
on the skin
of the air,
letters
that float
like oil
on water,
refusing
to sink
or dissolve—
they spell
nonsense:
“xylophone ribcage”
“velvet marrow”
“unbuttoned vertigo”
and yet
they feel
truer
than my name.a moth
chews
the edges
of my shadow,
leaving
holes
where light
spills
like yolk
from a cracked egg—
i try
to stitch
it back
with thread
made of whispers,
but the needle
melts
in my hand
and the whispers
turn
to ash.space
is not
empty
but
overfull—
a closet
stuffed
with ghosts
and mothballs,
each star
a pinprick
in the fabric
of a curtain
i cannot
pull back.
i reach
and my fingers
come away
sticky
with stardust
and despair.the avant-garde
is not
a style
but
a wound—
a gash
in the flesh
of meaning,
bleeding
colors
no one
has named.
i dip
my pen
in it
and write
sideways
across
the page,
words
stacking
like bricks
in a wall
that keeps
nothing
out
and everything
in.a bird
with no wings
sings
in my chest,
its beak
pecking
at the cage
of my ribs—
the song
is a spiral,
notes
twisting
up
and
down
and
through
until
my lungs
forget
how to breathe
and i drown
in air.fractured—
not broken
but
bent
into angles
that defy
geometry,
a cube
with seven sides,
a line
that loops
into a scream,
a point
that spreads
like a stain—
i am
fractured
and the echoes
are louder
than the sound.glassine void—
not empty
but
too full
of nothing,
a vacuum
that hums
with the weight
of absence,
a silence
that deafens
with its roar—
i fall
into it
and find
not darkness
but
a light
so bright
it erases
my edges
and leaves
me
a smear
on the canvas
of forever.the poem
ends
not because
it is finished
but because
the page
runs
out
of
skin—
the words
keep
spilling
into
the air,
into
your eyes,
into
the cracks
of the world,
where they
grow
like weeds
or
die
like stars
or
both
at
once.

#Poetry #SurrealVerse #ExperimentalArt #PoetryUnbound #AbstractWords #FracturedEchoes #GlassineVoid #WeirdLit #PoeticChaos #LanguageBend