Ghostly by the decaying remnants
Of a human's past,
Awake in the artifice,
In this gothic museum, We learn
Through those lambasted, ***** coral eyes,
Lives A ****** in sterilized porcelain.
Attest not to what is in the background,
The artwork. In the foreground of the clinic is
Like a curator of convalescence,
Who (as if to) merge the jelly of the gourd
With the opaque hollow body
I seek ownership of myself
Through being owned by another.
Somewhere someone is shown a space.
Their naked, mangled, convulsed self
In a rage of discontent In the cage.
Here the rage is in the spoiling of
The sacred ****** in us all,
The sounds are not our sounds.
The sights are not our sights.
museum, satan, orphanage, hospital, lost, chaos, devastation, psychiatry