Black Sludge

Black Sludge
by garland middleton

The Black Hole

is back.

It comes

every so often.

It sits

on my floor

in my dusty room.

I walk in and

my foot slips.


I cannot

move. Paralysis

This time
it will
be different

(I promise.)

I will
be strong

(I swear.)


I turn my

phone off.

I lock my


I allow

black sludge

to crawl up

my pale

sensitive leg.

I allow it
to enter me
from all angles.

I allow it

to trap

my lungs

and drown

my brain

with memories

of losing

my virginity


wiping blood

from my lip


walking past

crosses and

gray people

who call me

a murderer

bound for

a hot afterlife.

I am

by  m y s e l f

in a
dimension of
suicide and
self loathing.

It starts to feel good.

And I decide

to stay in

the black sludge

a little longer.

0 thoughts on “Black Sludge

  1. Ah yeah, best visual poetry i’ve seen in a long time. It’s good to see someone playing with the parameters as well as the dark matter that constitutes our ordinarilly demented perspectives.
    The part about losing virginity as a ‘dark memory’ stumped me at first but i think you can always find a negative twist about something we imagine to be so ideal in our heads that the actual may not even come close. But then again, the best piece i ever got was still awesome. Depends on how you look at it. That’s what the whole poem’s about after all–that downward spiral. Once you were up above it–now you’re down in it. When you stare at the specs that’s what happens sometimes. And it is kinda a relief because having hope and faith can make one a nervous wreck.
    Thanks for sharing!

  2. like a fiberglass insulation blanket on you when you don’t know the temperature but the thermometer that your ex is holding says 30 below and though you wisely don’t trust their warning you might as well not risk compromising that jagged warmth, so like you cuddle into scratches.

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