Chaos Chorus #2

Chaos Chorus #2

 

Dear History,

 

Not sure on the cellular details:

 

She said there were purple-cap mushrooms

and silver-lined clouds,

and silver-haired werewolf mushroom clouds

blooming inside of her purple tsunami soul.

 

I was not even debris in the tornadic fray.

 

I was miles away from bedlam;

a bedded-down-lamb counting eyelid veins.

She was mad that I missed the fireworks and pain,

so, she stabbed me while I was asleep.

 

I poured milk into her acidic head,

super-glued my belly like a broken vase,

Put her in a place she couldn’t escape.

 

If I bleed to death by morning,

so be it.

At least The Dead get some rest.

 

It’s not easy to love a green-eyed

psychological disorder.

 

My mind gets sicker,

my nerves get number.

my heart gets dumber,

my skin gets thicker,

my ache gets newer,

my eyes get bluer

every God-blind minute;

every Devil-raped day.

 

I’ve got more to say,

but my hand has resigned.

 

Signed,

the young old guy with the gut-wound.

Author's Note

the moon is dead, I might be dying, she is spinning 'round like a captured rabid cat....
in the year of fuck-all A.D., in the land of Snortand Nod, God help me find better tomorrows. If any new tomorrows there be.

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[Robin]

there is a reason they call it getting "Fucked up" ...