Between Naptime And Nothing

Rollover from death-slip
Terminal, my stains
Tumbler of illness 
I download to veins

Distance my real-time
Far away gaze
Slit open virtues
Infected, my ways

Caught in a webbing
With chain-clotted hands
Weighted in cement
Tear-felt quicksands

Dusk in my shadow
Filth at my toes
Rotting to once-hads
This turmoil, it grows

I want to ignite
The melt of this cell
But, there's no end in sight
Down my bottomless well