dr. mel waldman. (con’t). & pass through corybantic hours and rummage around in my ancient house in search of my shattered self; alone, in the cage of insomnia, I listen. But what do I hear? I taste the gunmetal silence, swallow the haunting, harrowing sounds of a thousand battered butterflies, furiously flapping their broken wings, in the bestial landscape of my wounded brain, & vomit human debris, eldritch explosions in the wilderness, & listen interminably to the ineffable; alone, in the cage of insomnia, I listen
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