Was It?

Then it flickers.
Distant images
Of what never was.
That I recall
In seemingly random moments,

Armies of the undead,
Dreaded corsairs,
Skeletal cutlass wielders,
Rise up from pages.
Their rancid teeth chattering,
Clattering, making noise,
Inside the recess.
Insects seeping
From gaping holes
Of rotting flesh,
Poking and prodding.
They weigh me down,
Breathing in
The fetid odor
That nauseates.
Arthropods enter my body,
I feel them crawling,
I try scratching
Without succeeding.
They just keep coming
In waves
Like a locust horde.

There was this though,
There was that,
And this thing.

But but but BUT.

Was it?
Is it really?

I just want it to stop.


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