A man tore himself apart
It was just the other day
Limb to limb, bit to bit
****** pulp, sinew askew
And now he sits and wonders
Was he always in such discord?
Or was this a fabrication
A fabrication of the mind
Or of the absence of a mind
Self diagnosed insanity
A man who had reached an end
A break, a crack, in his psyche
Exhausted every nodule of sense
Along the highway of consciousness
But how has it come to this?
What was it that sent him into madness?
Was there an actual affliction?
Or did he see his reflection?
He took his manifestation of monotony
Blew it to pieces with a shotgun blast
Picking out buckshot with broken fingers
Each pellet another unanswered question
How many times can a man crush himself
Before he's pressed too thin?
How many times can his world be flipped
Before he knows which way is up?
How many deaths must he endure
Before he feels alive again?
But he can no longer take action
After all these mindless meltdowns
He lays on the forest floor, motionless
Becoming one with the earth
Buried in leaves and branches decaying
The dirt below him is cold and wet
Insects crawling and colonizing
Marching through his rotting flesh
And it all feels romantic and beautiful
Sunlight and serenity fall upon him
Feeling nothing and everything
And then nothing again.