Inner Collision

  Such a black waste, a rotten muck of a spot,
lingering on, misting  permanent stench,
scarred in the blood and absorbed as a stain,
every breath exhaled, burns the eyes to wince.
  tattoed on the brain and buried alive,
worse than six feet under the ground,
it lurks through the veins, coating it all,
for it's chained, burnt and hell bound.
  lost in the dark, memories spinning,
reflecting upon a floggy glassed mirror,
circling cycles of inner collision,
and never sobbing a bloody tear.
  It's sewage seeping in deep cerebral,
haunting the halls of the future,
such a shadow in the black corner,
a stabbing pain like an infected suture.