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MJ L Jul 2014
Broken a few ribs.
It's a cage after all.
Whatever lives inside is scared.
Strike a few times more.

Draw a noose in the air.
Hang me from it.
Choke the frailty out of me.
Lower my head by the octave.

Daily bread.
Daily dread.
Daily please forgive me nots.
Go ahead and tie some knots.

I can still hear myself breathing.
Jeremy Betts Sep 2022
The hardest battles fought are against the chaos found within the rubble of the broken.
Any continuation of this experimentation on the human condition hangs on the theory that an upcomin' breath will allow itself to be taken
Gift or not, presently present solely due to the repeat of a heart beat, reminded constantly it's never a given
Many a complication with said blood pumpin' mechanism ribcaged in, to many components either broken or straight missin'
Naturally raisin' an interesting question, does life support support life or allow it to get one last minute jab in
Seems it's a personalization and ******* of the punishment fitted for the crime of lyin' about livin'
Seein' right through the Facebook filter projection, doom sets in without the monitor screens protection
Actin' like spoiled, undisciplined children, often throwin' a tantrum cause we're all on the spectrum
All of us? Yes, everyone.
A nonsensical state of frantic desperation overrides conviction, dignity the next to leave the station
No thought put into what's bein' said even, flippantly askin' for more calendar pages to be added in on the back end
Wildly missin' the irony of spendin' life in line for the next death bed to open, prayin' the priest is well spoken
Choosin' then to allow the soulless prayers to begin, hopin' to pull the wool over the eyes of the creator of all creation
He's up there laughin' and judgin' from heaven, he ain't sendin' help because it's entertainment first, then maybe fit in a lesson
Feels like bein' held in a hostage like situation through a self inflicted condition with a loved ones permission
Ignorin' the DNR written up to eliminate confusion and limit any guessin' 'bout what the dead is thinkin'
Wishin' they'd let go, knowin' they won't though, love can make the right decision impossible to determine
It was always a bogus mission, there's never been no mention of direction much less any talks about a realistic destination
An unorthodoxed tug 'o war, doin' both the pushin' and pullin', can't recall witnessin' a win, I only recognize losin'
The matrix is glitchin', the vale finally lifted as nightmares come to fruition, crowdin' an already distorted vision
Depraved of nutrition, lose sight of ones self in the fog of sleep deprivation
IT'S THE SLEEP THAT LETS THEN IN
In a never endin' hesitation, becomin' one with the comman background vegitation
A threat of slippin' into a comma is beginnin' to look like my very real and inevitable conclusion
The Illusion is crackin' and the illustration behind the fusade is to heavy for some to take in
And if I'm not mistaken it will only worsen for here and we're only here cause you took for granted what will now be taken
WHAT WHERE WE THINKIN'?

©2022
mike dm Feb 2016
shatter beneath
rages ribcaged: now opened, loosed.
dais
   for the blue,
                  pumping out
            yours truly.

flip page.

reanimate new beat,
new rhythm,
new
you.
dm micklow
Seamus Jan 2023
I. Twin whales washed dead
up on the beach —
the living bones of ornate speech.

II. The ribcaged heart that flutters
in her chest — electric mass.

What falls apart,
blood carries on —
recirculates
the last —

III. Whose lyre sang
(in sacred chords)
a complicated man?

A character,
impressed by frets —
amusing
Marianne.

IV. En archie en hoy logos, John!
Go dig a pony, boy!

All melodies begin with God:
play Pindar’s “Ode to Joy”.


TO BE CONTINUED

— The End —