Not a face. A prison.
The mind haunts here, ever poking
Teasing the past, mocking the future.
It is dead.
Cogs, oil and crossed wires
Keeps it churning, ticking over,
Not an ounce of natural biology involved.
The eyes that should be doors are walls:
They will not let you in until you raise
Your chisel against them and strike your hammer.
The patients you have already defiled scream.
The caterpillar circling oblivion pulses.
The tongue is no longer there,
Nor are there lips, gums, teeth to bite you in half.
Lead is now stored between these two jaws
Growing heavy and weighs my head down,
Down until it breaks the neck and sinks
Sinks past the heart that continues to beat
Broken. Broken. Broken.