Sliding atop ink-laden lights
That stretch like sound waves
Across the tides of my
Swollen thoughts, my bending eyes,
This matter breathes life
Into my chest, glides its
Silky hands across my face,
And turns my cheeks to solid gold;
But it weighs me down, ***** me
To the ground like
A vortex of infinite desire,
And it plays me like a pawn
To the madness of a game of dreams,
Governed by unwise wishes
Of pensive demands
And bountiful desolation.
Drifting like tumbleweed across
My thoughts, this matter speaks
Words of comfort at the expense
Of my good friend named insecurity,
And it slams his soul to the ground,
Stomps it with a verve ostracized by
Earthquakes and pulsating fissures,
Breaks it in two like a wishbone
Waiting for a plea,
And it dots me in green,
Locks me in a room filled with
The tyranny of silence,
Filled with the irony of a thousand
Evil, unpublished thoughts that
Sit dormant, terrified to peek
Into the light of eager desire.
Trudging like a broken soul,
This matter ages with rings
Like trees in an undying forest,
Becomes harder with the
Advancement of insatiable greed,
Flicks a switch and beckons me over
To sit on its lap, listen to its words,
Let its frozen breath tickle my ears
As it begs to eat me alive.
But am I alive?
My heart beats, but it doesn't sing,
My eyes can see, but they don't shine,
My mouth can speak, but I can't scream,
And a crown sits atop my head,
But it's made of flimsy plastic.
Yes, all the titles in the world
Are pinned to my tattered red skin,
But they won't matter once I
Strip for a good night's rest.
