Surreal vomiting

[FrenchToast]

Bleeding skittles 
into the oil of the sewers,
volcanoes cry to the heavens,
a ruptured sky in mind's eye.

There are tremours inside of my spine.
I am a striding creature of the night
licking its chaps. 

False grins
and happy frowns,
swirl around in cascading currents
phosphenes in a store window's Televisions.

Manic energy sparks
a frothy jade green aurora
as fingernails tear down fabric
and I vomit between breaths.

I yell out,
from the bottom of the chasm,
availing to nothing, 
brooding as I view
chairs amongst the empty rooms and
friends long forgotten 
reammerge from soil.

Mirrors reflect, 
diffract,
refract,
switching between mediums.

There is mad laughter
in the ether
as my body is reduced to corpse wax and
burns under the (there should be a word here to describe the sun) sun.

Hellacious sounds and
terrible smells
make their way to me as
indescribable events
come along,
spiraling down into the sea, 
where we sink in an abyss,
here with all the biolumanescent creatures
and we'll talk of other things
but the most important thing of all
and don't you forget it
is this silly conversation we had together.

My soul coughs
and I expire
for the vultures to snack on,
again and again,
cycling into a spiral of cycles.

- There were a few errors in spelling and the poem had a slight habit of becoming redundant, especially in areas such as brooding my next thoughts. It is already evident that thinking is occurring when there is brooding. The above changes are what I think would benefit the poem.