Filthy fingers, indeed.
Dared to touch
the dark cyclone swarming
deep inside the eye
you hide and the ever-ready,
eternally trembling
lips you provide for the feast.
Begging me to feed it. Daring me
to conceal
it, itching me to exploit it so
that in the end
all this pain
means something.
Slipping forward now
into a smoky labyrinth, eyes and arms striving.
Deep down, I’m panicking.
What insanity, that I would have accepted
such responsibility. Such a fool
to have someone I care for count on me.
Unethical.
Failure of empathy.
Death of hope for me.
Pull me back again.
Can’t face this. Confront what is to be.
Shame: already infecting me,
all as it should be.
Unforgivable.
Plow through the crowd,
casting mist away to feed frantic eyes
as I scream her name, demand
she comes back to me.
I’ll give anything,
anything,
just let me know
that you’re all right…
So innocent when I met
you, got inside
of you, yet I confessed
to you, predicted
the future
you ultimately
confirmed you had ultimately
succumb to: the desire
for something more
substantial. Props
for the confession.
Kills me that you failed
in your mission.
Know that as hard
as it is, these cycles
offer meaning
that can be found.
I know you can find your way.
You can come around.
Everyone knows you are a child,
yet they don’t treat
you like it, at least in no way
that would pierce
your bubble
to ensure
that you undeniably
know it.
Are you living in a bubble
of swirling delusions
meant to keep
you inside, comforted
in the midst
of your vivid dreams
and haunting hallucinations?
Beyond the skin
of the cell
you are in,
what might reside,
awaiting my admission
through the gates?
Horror driven deeper.
Fuck this.
I must end this.
Horror driven deeper.
Such madness.
How do I stop this?
Caution thrown
into the wind. Saturation
point met, exceeded:
Congratulations.
I just don’t care anymore.
Opinions are like assholes
and I have to take your shit,
so take a dive
into my own porcelain bowl
as I have with respect
to your own, excavating
peanuts of truth,
filling little more
than a penny purse —
and with so much room
to spare…
Blossoming argument.
My mind constricts
again into a narrow space,
too afraid to give
in an inch, too blind with rage
to engage in the rational conversation
I set out to have,
the reconciliation
I meant to inspire, the mutually
beneficial discussion in which I intended
to partake.
I’m just hungry
for your blood now.
I want to see you in pain.
Bounce back all the shit
I feel you made
me feel, leave
you broken, bruised,
lacerated and bleeding, begging
for mercy, eyes
frantically scanning
for some means of escape.
I lost.
You summoned the animal in me.
Conjured my devil. Now I’m too blind
to see, to learn anything…
Clearly, I’m too sensitive.
All I feel are extremes.
Abandon ship now, watch it sink
from the shore, head and heart filled
with salvaged dreams for all of us.
And to you they clearly
mean nothing, nothing.
Got what you wanted.
Your spray-tan savior made it,
now he’s shaking things up
like a child
with an ant farm
sending their world
into violent convulsions.
Think it’s any better now?
Is this place great again yet?
Or have you accepted
that this is the extreme insanity
we’ve been collectively
inching towards,
that the fun is over
and you simply fucked up?
How deep does your denial
worm its roots?
How far will will you let this go
until you awaken?
Or will you remain faithful,
interpreting mounting evidence
as a test of your firm, unshakable
commitment, Panglossian
to the end?
Sorry,
was I supposed to abandon
this as a phase, as a way
of struggling
with growing pains,
proving that I had finally grown
through accepting
your masks and costumes,
balls and chains,
as I continue the march
towards the grave?
Blow me.
Too far.
Can’t touch you.
So by mind I’ll
find you,
penetrate your mind,
seduce you,
remind you
I’m yours,
you’re mine —
that I
you
we need us.
Like we were running frantic,
lost and mad
our whole lives, passed
by each other on our star-crossed
crossroads
on into our dismal hells
until we retraced our steps
and found ourselves
back in each other’s arms,
both so fucked up, frustrated and afraid,
having fought against slavery
to love
till we both snapped back
to each other like elastic.
And fuck fate.
To hell with meant-to-be’s.
Even so…
Past, present and future
all the same stream.
Deaths and lives, links
in an unbroken chain.
So I dive in to revisit the truth.
I rise above to see it all again.
And I will remember.
I will find direction.
All three eyes wide open,
fixed on the truth.
Both fists plus
the one in my gut
white-knuckled
and ready
to make an impact.
Transmissions to Earth 