domingo, 23 de fevereiro de 2025

On the table

 The waves of pain increase the brow temperature
The heart raged foreign and peturbed
Incompatible unrecognized
the familiar space within the atria

Now a distorted shelter
where a young man would hide
in every intoxication to glean tolerance 
to an abrasive world

Waves of pain making it hotter in here
Bizarre Jester picture show has hijacked my eyes
I used to talk my way out these things now just cackles
crows skin under the feather rubbing and corrupting

The furious blades moving at the speed of light
To carve me shape me into something semiliving
then display me falling on my own broken bones
Infront of these human versions of success 

who stand passports ready
As I lay soiled and yet not buried
shooting into some outer dimension
where sense has been tainted

Could our great host interrupt the unnecessary failure here
The severity of this strange tunnel of suffering

distortions conspire each a kitchen waiter
towel folded on arm serving insanity
insisting in mixed tones that abruptly contrasted
until I black out and see those approval seeking faces

burning and cutting pushes me to lose my breath
voices echo eyelids open in hope yet nothing exists

even closer even more helpful looking
then losing their feathers once again
posing their crows skin the current trend
Other tables applaud

It's not a hospital anymore
It's a restaurant I'm tray bound
I've been served onto the table
therefore mercy won't be more than a glaze

waves of pain return unbearable heat
Tension flurries zero relief
echoing through my skeleton
pressurizing my organs

Confusion she said was the opposite
The lost child whose ghost could utter at dusk 
to mention abandoned in church of falling dust
then fading for neither light nor dark had claimed her

She would not anesthetize those waves of pain
Merely waking dream silent distraction from the insane
The excrutiating orchestra playing life is finished
through the perfect then grimly diminished

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