the metal mug
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Shut up in the coven of sullen plagues,
Piercing out my skull through the spiked bars as I hear the metal mug
Slamming like Pavlov's bell upon the bars...
Clanging with a longing hollowness through the fathoms
And pains of my inner lost and lust.
There was light up there, up over the stone steps
Away from the withering stench of this rotting game.
He teased me with the rancid leg of some red meat,
Dangling temptress from the glittering green,
The callous coldness...
Such an ancient torture to gamble my hunger and love,
And where does he get off to light the matches under my feet,
The drone and shine of sterilizing the blade
Before slitting my wrists.
Covered by the elusive cackle while strangling me
By the neck with some question marks.
Riddle diddle goes the blinking message upon the grill,
A spider crawled backwards over the checkered tile floor,
Smirking a smug shrug my way at the razors in my bread.
You just know he's peering from behind his dirt caked fingers
Grasping the damp mold of my freshly eaten flesh.
Sitting in the dripping sewers of my mental prison,
Whirling around without sense of gravity upon my body,
Then knowing with horrible recognition that I'd have to play the same,
Speak the same, and juggle my emotions like a trivial act
To please the spoilt crowned talking head.
What scrawls and scribbles tainted the walls of my memory,
I think they are actually still doublethink,
Tossed up and down in the trampoline of my precious sanity,
Pulled this way and that in the vortex of my confusion,
Bound by naiveté or what hits me square in the jaw.
I can keep going sir, with this carrot before my eye,
Honking you the sound of my rejection in society,
And myself.
Panting the frantic drool along the keeled over strength,
Drugged no doubt to the max. of oblivion and sense.
Hello colors, he's fed me well that droll with the fangs
And claws of kaleidoscopic glass.
I am human, or some facsimile of it,
Not a voice that drowns in the electronic absorption
Inside your labyrinth thinking.
Sinking, wheezing, smashed up bones and all
Onto the invisible walls where the donkeys,
Like Minotaur, eats you alive.
Where did they go warden?
Sucked through the black hole of your elastic heart?
By the way, tell the cook to add more MSG into the mush
As I can still pretend to have taste,
I can still remember to brush my teeth with my forefinger,
I can still lick myself clean,
I can still block out the haunts of the metal clang
Of the metal mug out side my nocturnal gate.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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