euphrates, what have you done to me

the suicidal flesh grinder
spins at night
when the eyes close with a certain pattern
at this house with no clocks
it's matter of sameness
manners in which the sights resolve and fail to distinguish

but i am blind and like bob said
a weary exile singing my song of loneliness
it's a matter of inertness
a lack of motion in my veins
and general sense of boredom in my neurons

euphrates
have you taken time?