You live in a world of all black and white.
Not the slightest glint of pigment, not the smallest touch of gray, not an inkling or a semblance of happiness or hope.
You blend in well with the world of black and white, of dullness and lethargy, knowing nothing other than lack of color and eternal melancholy.

Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture ******-eyed states of the caricatures.

Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!

Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.

Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream

How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?

Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.

The paranoia of the world today,
Escalated by the Social way,
A local crime, spread through the world,
Differing opinions to the events unfold,

The words spread like a virus, infecting us all,
Crushing our confidence in our politics and law,
Similar crimes, group with the last,
We worry the present, is more dangerous than the past,

Scared to go out, we shop online,
In fear of being the next victim of crime,
We lock up our doors, keep our children inside,
So we can watch closely over our pride,

When will it stop, the fear in us all?
That is etched upon the updates...
Of the Media's wall.

Gaging your spot in this world with acid-burning insides.
      
                      A hazy head.
                      A faded sense of everything.
                      It seems that this isn't working.
                      You feel no passion;
                                       that's on you.
                      There's something that you ought to do but that thing won't
                       stop the burning.                                      
                  ­    Admittance won't clear the haze.
                      Action won't bring you closer to what's (at least) functional

                      Let's not talk about realities for a minute...

When we look back
there is nothing but blotches

A faded remnants of the
brown-eyed school attendants.
Uprooted like floating log houses.
Convergent whims of the ******* children.

I'll be sure to take you down with me.
Down deep into the cellar.

Lifted on a wheelchair
while trying to stare at the toonish heads inside.
A bright light appears.
I'm hoping I can tunnel in.

But my legs won't move.
Every time I reach for the light
a large hairy arm restrains.

A smooth utterance follows.
My muffled ears and the seeping quell.
This is as close as it gets.

Fold the sheets in toward you.
A cold that won't leave the bones
keeps up.

The old brain governance was a relief
until I realized I was back where I started,
with a makeshift ash try
and an innate sense of urgency.