Conception of a black hole

We, delicate products, like waterlogged pages  
where faded words still clutch tight an empty stomach  
flashing us their wing-clipped pages  
we always find we crave the pages  
 
Uncertainty carries off its weight in flesh  
and buries its fangs even into resemblance  
 
as paranoia breeds a thrill in pain; in memory  
in fabrication, adrenaline building a pin-drop addiction  
branding every silent gist to memory -  
we relish and curse our memory