On this solid space of ground,
I am hollowed and tainted beyond
any hope of the resurrection.
My brain slowed and slurred together,
I watch the pieces of myself
float away on the river.
Monster inside gasps for breath,
stifled under these walls,
the light drained from the moon
with a teaspoon,
the strange darkness calls me inside itself,
deeper to fall until tomorrow.
The mind haunts its own
walls and secret coves and spaces,
in a twisting and screeching soul,
twitching from skull poisoning.
I’m stuck in a blaze
of someone else’s glorified suicide,
the energies strained me into
a new form of being,
one that I didn’t recognize
in the mirror,
in the whorehouse for which we stand,
salute and deliver me
out of the dark colored glasses
and into a world of dancing
under cursed skies,
at least free to scream out in the night
to no one.
I’ve got to slither out of this character,
the sirens calling me with
wails and slimy hands,
blood drips down their faces as
tears form the forest behind my house.
The ghosts stagger in single line,
out of my closet
and stand next to my bed while I pretend
to be asleep,
feigning comfort and restful poise.
I felt split and defiant towards
the ends of pleasure and fortified walls
made of glass and glue.
The effect has left the cause standing at the alter.