The density of moments
The kind marked with gasps
Or hard swallows
Those that sink you into the earth
Or tear a gaping hole into reality
The light of the present
A distant dot
As you fumble along
Dark disorienting walls
The jagged wounds
Of realization
Breathing through smoke
Hearing through water
Even tears won’t come
Until the present returns
Searing, blinding
An apocalypse of personal proportions
That make the world seem a synthetic cover-up
A foreign wasteland
Sucked dry of its beauty
As if dashed upon rocks
Seemingly impossible to rebuild
with the scant shards left
The Mewriginal 