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Inspiration from Desolation Angles Thinking back to soda pop counters, a time I never existed. When the past was real. When I wasn’t there. Wasn’t there To tarnish the already frail state of hope, wasn’t there with my 9millimeter pen to make ink blots for the world to analyze and come out with nothing, exactly what was depicted. Camouflaged in blood to blend in with the Gods. Untouchables. Sitting alone, high in pillowed desolation, destroy it all to become pure. Uncut. Straight Heroin that makes the soul drip, makes everything Containable in ‘now’ boundaries. Puddles large enough to splash Up and get the mind wet, but not deep enough to drown in. Semi-safe. As close as the lack of precaution can get you, not Wanting to fall into the light and be burnt with the realization That righteousness is attainable. An almost reasonable goal. Facets that cause every playdoh belief inside me to shake in there Sand foundations. Grasping to find roots. Steal the nutrients Available. Force-feed what is necessary to resurrect, but I am No Lazarus. No stones to be moved from my tomb. No exit Even if they were, walls erected without purpose. To enclose The world in velvet hushes because tears are so soft. A peddler, Selling tin replicas of something that used to be there, cracked Porcelain, shattered kneecaps, hands trying to find grip in mud. Drag me back to the altar to repent just to find that the words aren’t there. Lead tongue. Crown of thorns that is my Being, not the person just the torment. Identifying with the martyrs, but have no cause to die for, except this feeling that is constantly fleeing from a name. Licking my feet while I sleep.Tickling me with pincushion ideas to drool upon paper, as close as I get. Isaac without his fathers help, without whispers in the ear Guiding him. Piercing flesh just out of curiosity to see what The insides look like. Charted in breadcrumbs. To be clutched To swollen breast, milk laden. Held like a newborn, thrown Into the world bright eyed with no money back guarantee against Loss, just aware of need. Need to feel this forever. Make a broth Out of it. Chicken soup to keep the soul suffering. Fighting with Vapors, choking on fresh air because the phlegm of ‘being alive’ has more weight. More palpable than spirits. Beating with a Consistency I haven’t found in peace. Artificially induced. Illegal Substance or the joy I sometimes give others, ricocheting back at me bright as an orgasm. Mirrors that come to close to value. Hurt the eyes. Squinting through window frames watching the Lemmings go about their day. I wish I could paint the cliff, breathe life into it, and paste it on the world with Elmer’s glue So the smell will draw them in. Welcome to my World. |
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