Failure is

Nothing came to mind, set assail,

Take me back- the lives tangled in grey,

Kept at bay,

Withering beneath mistletoes and cannibals

Knocking at my door.

Distant, echoed voices so mawkishly dreary-

They'd never escape the mind, 

The utterly perfect audacity 

Wrapping itself around the thoughtless,

All showing itself on the blood-stained tissue later in the day

Remnants of the night prevail

Entailing pails, collectors of the sky, 

From the holes punched in the ceiling, 

A once-made good investment, 

The trickling continues, an interminable mess,

And the droning flood replicating every movement made by fingers.

A wish to never be collected. 

An emaciated span of time, 

A span of time becoming so collectively void of coherence.

The room is three feet high, 

My face is underwater,

As density increases, my ships sink further.
As I remembered nothing was intact.