Ichor

Horrendous is the vision
Of a blind world
Turned inside out
To stare at itself
Broken is the image
Of solipsist men
That long
For a way out
The cracks and the rust
At the base of the monolith
The crones, they linger
The floaters and parasites
Bitter is the rain
On my sand paper skin
And a heart
Heavy with ash —
Woe to the lost