words, like blood
dripping and cooling like wax on paper
the overwhelming surge beneath the skin
the cataclysm of energy inside the quickly stiffening limbs
like the monster of old habiru lullabies
before the chains link .. the anchor settles to mud
struggle to break free, to clutch a fishing line named hope
the shuffling pain within of a perpetually bruised broken heart
swimming through the ichors between
the strange black hymns and the anthem of the damned
fingers traipsing over the glossy pages
fresh with not faces but the images of brilliant cortex laid to waste
in cadmium yellows pthalo greens and that alizarin crimson
i keep the lock on my room
both to the doors beyond these walls
and the red labyrinth within
i feel naked and raw and vulnerable
and i wonder if this is the sense of a rabbit in an open field
no one seems to be around today
but what would i say if i caught another in a butterfly net
as the fires of rage and hate burn full force within
threatening and ready to incinerate any semblance of the things that caused me pain in the past
there’s a promise in silken threads laced into my ribcage
i can’t see it so do i believe it
or do i just leap reckless
is there a difference
i can’t even read it these days, there’s no hope unravelling it
it has grown into a piece of me
the very thing i crave that i can’t seem to name
and oh i’ve tried believe you me monsters of little faith
i’ve tried
i have contemplated that should an accident befall me
i bet the last words to crawl past my lips would surprise the stalking host
i don’t care about the things i used to anymore
and on a good day i’d like to uproot all of humanity
and send the disgrace we call culture to the edge of a cliff on a sweet silver blade
slay dogma right next to the atrocities of fear power corruption and hate
and with the truest blooded demons gone
allow the survivors to brood and meditate a new meaning of the word holy
until they see each other inside of it
even as i press my lips hard in the sharp wake the iceburgs i dodge in this brackish briny blackwater murk
i could find the force and might within me
to burn this shithole to the ground
and plant a seed to begin a garden sweeter than the last
if i found ten souls worthy to deserve it
(as the old story goes)
i have to build my own hope to float
instead of sticks i pull up grass
so i guess we’ll have to wait a minute
and enjoy the beauty of purpling unrolling skies before the hail hits
and grasp every breath
and see if the syntax drifts
to pole the code of the surrendered chesspiece royale
down the river to the cunning jester
who can’t seem to tell if he’s been willed
alice’s blackest wonderland or a four inch slice of the golden kingdom of heaven
because here in the shadowlands
they are one and the same
swifter than the shifting seasons
her reason goes slipping off the edge of the world to the unknown
her mouth, volcanic
as life tastes grey and slight, bland as chalk
there are pearls here to trade for a cure
for a healthy fat diversion
for some tin hero to smash the golden clock
so the flowers can grow
©️ 2008
Originally posted on my DeviantArt
Mischa Fox 