It Does Not Cease

It Does Not Cease

It does not cease—the passions,
The nightmares, the monstrosities.
I trace them, undone,
Unable to grasp their babble.

Twisted into strangest shapes,
A spiral of spirited fluids
Circling in crooked paths.
It does not cease.

A maelstrom of mad creations
Where we sought the final line.
I skip the nonsense;
Only delusion remains
Till late misty morning.

Then it stops.

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