Encephalon
A Poem

Papers are scattered across the creaky wooden floor. Letters swirl around in the air like toxic particles. I am slimy and congealed. The dust grows like a cloud of perfume, The gourmand delectability recharges the batteries. I am faced with twenty seven potion bottles filled with integral substances. The layers slow in motion in time with the deepening moonlight. The chapter closes to make room another with an unknown purpose.
