I think I'm exhausted; I got carried away again.
Think I like this.
My brain has gone to shit.
Am I supposed to be angry? I'm just tired.)
Decadent Detachment Reversal
December 16, 2011
Cut off at the crossroads,
caught between wires that shock
with ecstatic pulsing electricity,
and barbed wire bitties that gnaw
and don't let go.
I was only making my way,
making it back, trying to prove my lively existence
when a swivel of oak branches and a
crackling of handmade thunder brought me to stop
nearby the river, but not close enough to feel
the drifting, escaping water drip-droplets.
And I know it was homemade, man-made
because of the scuff marks set across
the roots and torn dirt of it's base,
the souls escaped like greedily hungry prisoners
and they could feel nothing, being just clumps of
emotion and memory.
So they just ran
There the long-legged, weary headed passerby stood
grasping her baskets, shaking in shell shocked fear,
by the looming leaf terraces and tall tree columns.
I felt like a Greek God
burning at my
Laying low like a morning's dewy fog,
the sound settled and cradled itself to slumber
finding dream peace in my crushing complex.
Daring to look, daring to allow reflex to take it's action
she (I) looked to attain, fearful of the knowledge,
but embracing the hesitant, tremor evolving truth.
That man-making, tree breaking bandit, soul saviour
stood in black market bandanna's and blue jeans,
with eyes too dark and hair so long it faded in the light.
That thunder gatherer, defiant, sinning,
sickly grinning seamstress of souls stood
suffocating laughs away from crisp clean air,
stifling all sound to me, because I faced my own
existence one on one. As she drew her sword and sliced
the branches above me, I fell from limb to sodden limb,
crushed like almond butter crisp.
I lay on my knees, begging these
soggy wooden limbs not to abandon me,
But I sunk thigh-deep into ravenously churning
sandstone that melted me into its embrace like chocolate.
I was the cherry, to this Enticers evening dinner fondue.
Watching as I took wide steps towards myself,
(a twisted mirror not even Alice would have entered)
I stifled tears, but felt rage burn in stagnant arteries,
and she smiled upon me, being prettier than I was,
then tore the mask off my face, baring twin flesh features.
I would have had the earth swallow me then,
but I looked into the reflective glass, as the
defiant grin grew to be my own, slicing across
deeply pale skin. I lost track of who I was.
The burning in her blood became the burning in mine,
the stinging in my grey matter thoughts became the
hurt and contempt in hers. She saw me truly naked,
and then consumed me whole.
The intrusively burning branches ambled their way
between bone and joint, bursting bursa, enticing
arthritis and ache. And when the world was done using me,
I sat upon those crossroads (for they had become crossroads)
and briefly began on where I should continue on to.
But buried beneath, there sat a girl, who anguished in the
thought. Watching precedent replay like living nightmares,
like twisted hell.
Where to go next?
(Note: bursa- a liquid filled sac found in your joints to reduce friction and improve movement between tendons and bones. If you care.)