pyramind


i am wired
into a box
of women
their metal connectors
attached
to my cerebral cortex
in control of everything
i do
what i desire
what i write
what i suffer
random knobs turned
clockwise
make my 
throat itch
the box begins to throb
like a heart
begins to pulse with the love
of thousands
the blood of me, the mercury
that is theirs
because they want to be
sheltered
under my ribs
in a cradle
of erotic
mischief
they do not know that
i am a fool
who wields a knife
a suicidal
impatient
insatiably maniacal beast
a masochist
who stabs himself
between the ribs
he cannot live with loving
anyone
and he cannot live without loving
at all;
he holds the hand of Eros
“evil his heart, but honey-sweet his tongue...”
and therefore i fatten with every breath
he takes
infested with worms and maggots
a golden apple
rotten to the core
a vengeful serpent of logic
“touch not his treacherous gifts, they are dipped in fire”

the electric pangs of love
come screaming through the nodes
but my nerves
are benumbed
to the swirling pain

i can laugh at devotion and keep
others at a distance,
without feeling a fucking
thing

understand that i am an angel
who does not believe
in angels
i am wired into a box
of apathetic
self-indulgent
solitary confinement

finding my heart is not unlike
stumbling upon a proverbial
needle in a haystack
for
i am a lover
who does not believe
in love.




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