My fascination for the morbid,
and the unthinkable is grotesque
in all manner, though it is something
that I do quite relish
for in the concept of it all,
I am quite taken by the blunt
cruelty of the world,
though I am not such a person.
There is loneliness that drifts
amongst those who breathe
simply to survive;
and then there is struggle
to those who understand far more
than what I can.
My interest is grotesque indeed,
to simply watch scenes unfold
like the wings of a raven, unfolding
like plastic fans with cheap rings at the end
slowly coming undone
as time wears down the bones;
no longer breathes simply
Her lips become unsealed,
as she spills her urge to
confront her lover.
He hesitates in the face
of an oppressing threat.
They cry under great pressure.
I am fascinated, by the flamboyance
of the suffering; their strong strides
that hold no actual magnitude.
Their faux smiles that sing of
fresh blood mixed with their saliva
hiding behind trembling teeth;
strong hands that hold far tighter
than usual, when I comfort them,
and their suffering bleeds out of their wounds
like the lungs do oxygen,
and mind you, it surrounds me like a fog.
I have a morbid interest,
of watching it all unfold,
but that is what I simply am.
I am a bystander; a silent witness.
I simply wonder why these people
have the urge to come undone
before me. Why am I such a good
ear to their loud silence.
But ah, I understand now.
I am the same like them;
as you are me now.
be an ear; be a mouth.