How I Feel Sometimes

a soiled sack of shards of shattered ******* and crusty crumbs of dirty icicle
grinding slowly like a compoung fracture
pain sparking dully, liek the firing of a derange synapse
babbling desperate nonsense in a forgotten code to nobody at all
a dying lightbulb flicking and flashing in an airless closet in the back of a forgotten guestroom
the light flickering on the torn flap of an old shoe box
where a doll's eye lies, staring, between a plastic piece from a lost board game
and the flaccid carcass of a perforated bicycle inner tube
while a cheap box fan with only two blades
stirs the fetid, reeking exhalations
into a tepid miasma
of stifling, sticky, stinking swampmuck
that sucks skeletons dry then chews the bones
just to have something to eat
the bones, of course, are its own

BeyondTheDeadHorizon BeyondTheDeadHorizon
Feb 27, 2009