Grim Reality

Walls and Windows Wear Wounds

The last left turn
Down this gaunt, chlorophyll hole of radiation phantoms, mangling; Inflicting
Dehydrated anemone dreams, plucked from the serenading sonatas of the mind –
Fairy tale anatomy wickedly impaled with dirty-scissor incisions
Spinal fluid rupture beneath flickering horror movie skylights
Grind and whir, grind and whir, a debate between machinery on the significance of humans
Bone dust-cloud high ushering dilated dismemberment, Visine-clean crime scene; Mistakes are negotiable –
Note addendum: Except for hemorrhaging…
Your autopsy has been scheduled; excuse the shaky hands, you have 31 minutes, no talking
Crows are expiring, candy carbon dioxide hangover with a cherry, fizzy twist –
Pop-splat, pop-splat; Obsidian-snow plumage waterfall migration, but you cant see the trees
For the forest is a serrated, saturated disaster –
This bitter gin wreath of black feathers, a luscious crown of disillusionment, as I
Decompensate, hibernate in a dark corner in the library of desolated dreams, with dislocated eyes
I read new volumes of misery, tomes of abstract mathematical hieroglyphs that make my mind crumble –
Any truth summoned out of desperation is deficient in authentic meaning, and I
Loathe my nauseous psychobabble –
The circle eats itself, and that is all you need to know
Embalmed in this contorted, rotting-winter nursery rhyme
Blonde curls, soft breasts, and rooms of green perfume now silent
I spiral into the next basement psychosis
Mewling vertebrae in the wall; The hedge ghouls are bickering and staggering around wicked corners –
Botched debauchery stabs my eardrums as it retches in the yard, rendering my beliefs obsolete
There is no tender truth here, no coagulation to stop the leaking of my mind –
I have carried all of this unfortunate weight, this ghastly grotesquery. This vulgar Mardi Gras party –
Carnival of the wretched damned
With my taunted, fractured bones
And those murky worms flaunting razor teeth, gnawing through my succulent brain
I push my groaning gravestone, its calamity of words drafted from rancid ink
Webs of pissed waterbugs wasted on lifes vinegar wine…
Stringy fingers of atrocity steal my tears to water the weeds, beneath a stargarden moon
Its shimmering, neon, jasper river, a gasmask-green nocturnal nectar
Precious, like hoarded Demon dew
My disappointments seek mutated murmurs
Distilled deviations of these last abrasive seasons (I beg my reflection in this backward mirror!)
Acid seasons dripping all their color, and then you recognize that the wailing you heard was your own…
How does the moon slip through your fingers, pulling the screaming stars with it?
Amputating the fragrant molecules sliding down the curvature of your naked spine?
Sliding through times quicksand tears, as they drop splintered logic?
The silvery-pink cocoon where you nestled within loves sublime mosaic –
Safe from streetlight demons
10 plus 3 and 3 plus 10 is 13 now, was 13 then; Is truth a fallacy? Or is fallacy a truth?
Epochs archetypes Divinity unwinds, reveals our shadows existence and its tragedy…
My enemy was me

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