Still, even stifled,
Shrieking in the moment;
Ignorant cries of – deeper breath,
Whirling, maddening flimsy cycles
Of trepidations – whimsy – is there a gun to
my head, my boyish ruby?
My everlasting fight to the last
ego – ego
Pressed to the toes and palms.
Always landing on that last stretch,
A stretch of infinite strain. Fuck,
Tightening throats of dust, of horror.
Of all-knowing insides dousing a
Flame, a fire made of perfect light,
Merry days go blind – deaf, dumb,
Chiseling empty numbers into rocks for
Days and years and weeks, not one thought
for the weak, silly, pallid life that lies
holding back the clouds of putrid denial.
Take this moment and sentence me,
You, us, every ounce of goodness,
To the hammering sound of tales from
The outside – gouge out our
Conduct our demonic choirs,
Beg our masters for eternal sunshine,
Losing solace, sleep – nevermore,
Understand, let us burn.