Analysis of her voice

Through the clinging haze it glistens black.
Her voice heaving upward against it's lopping weight.
My brain being crushed against the ceiling of stars.

--- Her voice twisted on itself ---

The bloodied air, the sucked out streams.
The torn off lense and healing skins,
Tangles in its uprooted, consumptive coil.
The slime of her wasted words, the blind soul,
Her voice, some-what like an organ grinder.
The paint drop staircase that I hang onto, is hanging by a thread.
Her voice,  buzzing like flies that surround the rotten garbage can.

Her voice that has yet to escape from my head...

Left me for dead