Torture

A dark and psychedelic poem about struggle.

At the tilting climax of the axis of confusion

Rancid black stew spills out of the seventh bowl

In a venom of savagery and greed and lust and hatred

And pain and frustration and brutal irrationality

 

The enormity of concealment’s curtain

Revealed at last, in a shower of Mother tears

A storm of cacophonous Father disarray

There at the feet of the Daughter shrine

 

And the Son, in his false brightness,

Teeters secretly on the edge of safety and sanity

Waging a war for peace of mind

Hopelessly

 

In vain, his heart knows

As the illusory vastness of hope

Crumbles down into the miniscule truth

All that remains is a longing for desolation

Sweet solitude, apart from the struggle

 

Begging for respite from the pursuit of snakes

And the cruel wind

And the ruined night

Against the heavy hateful rain, doubt of goodness

Sets in grimly and violently

 

The entirety of a single soul

Balanced between this instance and the next

Omnipresent love, more powerful than the most insurmountable of evils

Unable to be felt

 

Neck deep in emptiness, fingernails clinging to sheer stone

Sliding away, fading

The conclusion of the End

Author's Note

-when giving feedback, please tell me how the poem made you feel internally, on an emotional level. Even if you felt nothing at all. Thank you in advance.