Sidereal

A stone has buried itself
in my fickle heart,
a black stone
from the ocean of fear.

I listen to the window,
cold and fragile
against the night.
I am afraid of it
hammering on
my exoskeleton.

My skin is chilled,
bare and horripilated.
The clock is mindless
with the caress
of its fingers.
It loses itself.

My eyes are cages
that imprison
me
in
sleep.

Patrik Gryst

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