Ribcage

You lose the ability to feel anything, happiness, even pain when you've been taken to a hospital and not allowed outside those doors just because you have a mental illness. Hard to find your wings.

Ribcage

Abrasive grenades of a Rorschach vaccinator, degrade our mental health like a prison cell, the hell drawn by stencil, incomprehensible

Pre-meridian hell like a carousel riding the leviathan at high tide’s cyanide cry through the rib cage because I’ve lost heart

So give me back my triple bypass as I trickledown the cracks of a relapse incapacitated by decapitation of my own self-hatred

But I’m a hydra-ulic press with my multiple heads metabolic mess, but you’re in the wrong neck of the woods, I’m a heckling wendigo bellow my tempos adrenaline Excalibur Valkyries mouthing the alphabet like an alligator

A key to a puzzle piece to unlock the prison of my chest, behind the ribcage I’ve locked a door

A place I go no more, where some emotion bore oracles of my origin foreign to the corridors of my mind, my psyche ward laboratory

Wonder what will I find when I rip the Gilgamesh fresh from Maleficent’s breasts and finally have the tits to go with this a*s

An ejaculating pacifist stitching the picturesque images back together like a movie’s ventriloquist

I’m a new me

When I reincarnated the arcane of my cartilage marching onward bone hardened for booty, enraptured in your illusion for the plumerias that paradox triceratops in the sarcophagus postulating the possibilities

Centrifugal trinity of guillotines vilify tranquility under the anarchist canopy of a madman’s ramblings of impressionistic resentment unrelenting my emblem at the ready for Armageddon hellbent to the embers that weather in December simultaneous the raincloud shroud, that silver pilgrimage, the widowed visage of the incubus, transitions the transient language of the cadaverous abandonment of a humanity’s madness trapped like a wildebeest in the cage of foreplays enraging dominatrix on a monolith of the unforsaken monikers tapered to the wicker-man’s flickering aether of trancelike idols reciting lightning ichor iced by cyclone psychedelic candlelight by Babylonian stoicism like a nocturnal purgatory in unresting pestilence

When I shatter unravelling I sire rematerialized miracles you couldn’t fathom to the atoms

As my chest beats humming annunciating flight like a blood sacrifice coming back to life illustrated by a superstitious visionary like lunar rays illuminated

The scythe of the night sky glides like hyperdrive, a cardiovascular rhapsody

Call me revivified Frankenstein, came back to life twice, rewinding spellbinding patterned asterisks abstracts orgasmic havoc eradicated this maverick sabotaging around Saturn androgynous

But I’m coming back to haunt the monsters carving abominations like me into the star searching insanctuary’s nursery like an egg snatched from the cataclysmic nest of my extraterrestrial vestiges by the talons of madness

An eggshell that slipped through the crackling passageways, an avalanche fried from the pans’ vantage point, and hardwired in the fire when I could have gone coco, to lose it all again

An automaton who sees a comatose barcode like a Necronomicon husk of what could have been, more renegade than rust still avant-garde cosmos for the martyr I have reinstalled particles like a carnivore enamoured by battering rams contaminated from the bottom of a heart I never treasured

And I threw it all away for a chance to see them again, because nothing beats like their primitive rhythm

And if I find rapture for the captives in this blasphemy, masquerading anarchy’s manifestation

I’ll break that ungodly embodiment until your left hanging by your fabricated threads a reverend begging for redemption through your entrails

These chains called heartstrings used to hold me down, but now I don’t have the heart to let you have your way

Won’t sway in a hurricane anchored in the pancreas of my sanctuary’s astral plane

I’m not your puppet, I’m a real man, a bird that’s left the coco nest, but a lone-attic doesn’t need the wings of a noose, I’m on top of the world, addicted to victory, cause love is like a drug, and when I’m over the moon, I reflect on deep thoughts, so cry me a river, lost my mind, but my heads in the clouds, I’m a star, so shoot, you better make a wish, the free-flowing apocalypse of this ribcage is immeasurably open-hearted, Imma wing it, but you can’t make me hold my breadth, that’s a half measure, you came up short, I’m inching forth, and it’s already taken flight 

Because the only thing that beats now

Are these wings

Author's Note

This is about freedom. And the right to fly, rather than live in cage. A cage without a heart.

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I've always felt, for the most part, our medical system is inhumane, be it physical or mental ailments. Your poem dramatically shows how it feels to be caged as if this is a benefit to your life!?!?! I've caged animals (pet rabbits) & I still feel bad about being so stupid. I noticed your poem came in waves of intensity . . . you'd be expressing yourself with clarity then you'd throw down a paragraph I found incomprehensible, so the overall effect was as if showing me there are places that cannot be accessed (inside you). There's some killer wordcrafting here, to name a few:
"So give me back my triple bypass as I trickledown the cracks of a relapse incapacitated by decapitation of my own self-hatred"
"I’m a hydraulic press with my multiple heads metabolic mess"
"These chains called heartstrings used to hold me down, but now I don’t have the heart to let you have your way" . . . and the last two lines make a superb thumb-your-nose ending! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thanks Margie, there are always pieces of ourselves I feel that are hard to share, but I feel I can share them through poetry, as an art rather than a secret. But some lines will always remain mysterious for anyone, be it life, or poetry.

[barleygirl]

Lots of people find my writing incomprehensible becuz I use alot of unfamiliar words & I use a country-hick lingo at times. I've considered whether to change my writing to be more appealing to the masses, but I can never do this. Some people can & let them be popular, if that's what they enjoy. People like us have to be true to our process as we communicate. There will just be more that do not resonate with what we have to say!

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Exactly! :)

[.]

This pain that you've spilled here so skillfully and it's like protruding out of one self while reading. The excellent imagery creating ability of your's is going to take you high. You'll always be on a higher place because of your creations and all that you've tolerated and now a very pure personality than anyone of us, the one who understands life and it's pains in a better way. Your vision towards life is something different than us but it's still a secret. I'll wait for the day when it comes out and certainly it'd be an appreciable writing.
Good Luck!

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thank you MC! I'll try my best.