|I am who I am.|
SleeperPick up and rest,Sleeper by Servain
Shifting due dates,
Uncertainty and confusion,
Awareness, hyperextension of mentality.
Cut my skull across in two,
Remove the grey matter,
Ladle stress into the open cavern,
Resembling an empty bowl of soup.
However the steam boiling off doesn’t warm me,
But freezes me,
And I’m held in place,
Like watching reruns with eyes pinned open.
Like when I say or hear “Rape.”
Escapeless cupboard of grandmother’s old china,
Bound to a chair in a fragile environment,
Broken pieces missing from display,
But I remain on exhibition,
Covered with dust and forgotten.
Your doll-like eyes cause shuttering,
The cobwebs are brushed from a distant memory,
Cringe until the pain is squelched,
Mop up the blood from the floor,
Clean the walls and the door,
Pink soapsuds wash down the drain,
Returns to white.
I lay my head down and a soft voice murmurs to me;
A Heavier DrugPassive eyes and parted lips,A Heavier Drug by Servain
Unreceptively viewing the waltzing walls,
Sedated and unaware,
Frozen, but on fire.
I respond too late to the sound of a door opening,
No longer having the chance to look to see who’s there,
Was it a friend or foe?
A guardian or demon?
Was it the closet or the front door?
And my heart rate rises,
Like the smoke vaporing from a smashed cigarette butt,
Abandoned in the ashtray one the high runs out.
What’s left behind and what dissipates?
Never to be recalled again or able to resemble even in the slightest what purpose it once served.
Drowsiness drizzles over me like chocolate syrup over vanilla summers,
Spider web sensations ripple as numbness tastes my skin like fine wine,
Cough medicine overdrive, as my mind becomes a vast ocean,
The whitecaps churning,
The surface waltzing as the walls,
But motion does not mean change,
The control may have ruptured,
But this chaos is crowned normality.
A depth of unknown chasms and dead
Double-SidedJust like the buzz of the razor,Double-Sided by Servain
My mind projects television fuzz,
And just as bits of hair fall to the floor,
So I fall into oblivion and obscurity.
Hide again in human flaw,
Take advantage that this race is greedy and selfish,
Dissolve into the mirror and absorb the shards,
Let them rip through your skin,
Puncture your arteries.
The blood runs out and the masses walk by as if you stood behind a double-sided mirror,
But it’s still disturbing.
Perturbed minds have the most color.
I watch the chemo drip in,
Its melody matches the beat of blinking,
Each plunge of poison killing mother a little more,
Each descent of venom curing mother a little more,
Each bead of toxin dulling mother a little more.
I am being killed.
I am being dulled.
Am I being cured?
Perhaps a broken wine glass edge is my chemotherapy.
No longer can tell the difference between mauve and sanguine,
Unable to discern the alcohol from the life,
The executioner from the murderer,
But the two aren