Poezja

A mystical dialogue
in swirls-
to drown you.
 
Blank pages draw you
for a suicide, without
moving your bones.
 
A thin worded threat
to conceive a sculpted
dream, deranging
your sea of
cadavers.
 
No dissecting table
you need to solve the death.
All the arguments are tilted.
You will rig the answers.
 
They will come
in bunches, to beat you.
You will not hear or see anything.