Loopy

Maintain motionlessness against the metal table
and lean against the devil’s walking stick
while we illuminate your skull with fibre-optic cables
like prison wardens with ice picks.
I’ve an inkling that this stinking
cesspool of antiquated thinking
may be the death of you,
because your needs are like needles,
your teeth tearing through your lip like steeples
until you’re bleeding your beliefs like blasphemy,
cornered like a werewolf in a moonlit cage
and
time ticks
ticks
ticks
backwards towards the stone age
while you’re stuck together with staples,
stuttering on the title page.
baby, you were born sick


(Close your eyes and count down from ten
maybe you’ll hit zero and feel alive again)

Truth is,
we all want to die
by our own hands
on our own turf
in an hour that fits us better
than a Monday morning.

This fury is merely a practiced jealousy -

We all wish we were you - See more at: