Languid prickly pear.
Ashen, voracious sky lay waste.
bruise Earth.

Prickly languid pear.
Hold fast against the wilted branch.

Thank the tree for its regard;
the limb that decayed the least.
                              O' how my will hangs
                              as I do above the death
                              who brought us this rot
Pear, languid and prickly.
Tenacious pride claws and bites
at morbid despair and lonesome longing;
                                                        ­           neither victorious.

Ashen sky dust and burn the peel

Languid pear.
Pain felt from
the dying of the limb that had more than
you in the end

Resentment tucked between the anguish.
Who brought us this rot?
                              O' how this will fades
                              unable to deliver
                              the cut that will end
The branch snaps.

Languid.
World devoid;
the will of which persists.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
unaware that I am suffering from a deep rooted infection.
For don't you see that I'm painfully dying
and in the future you'll know that I could've been saved,
all it took was a simple moment of trying
and to hear the things that I always craved.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you down
but I've always been a strong swimmer,
we can easily take on another pound
just focus on the waves surfing glimmer.
Keep going, keep rowing,
don't inhale that salty sea.
The wind's blowing, exhaustion is showing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
they aren't the slightest bit shocked at my self inflicted dissection.
For I desperately need to remove my organs of rot,
these days feeling just takes too much of a toll on me,
and they're so badly damaged that no customer has bought,
even when I offered them up for free.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you under
but I've always been gifted with a swift stroke,
how I made it out this far truly is a wonder,
or maybe just another sad tasteless joke.
Keep going, keep towing,
don't you give up so easily.
The wind's blowing, pace is slowing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

So call me Ismael 'cause I'm lost at sea,
was caught up in a current very swiftly,
and my white whale has lost all interest in me,
I guess there's some other place it would rather be,
than stuck in my sad excuse for company.
Do I glimpse land's salvation or am I just succumbing to insanity?

Sugar of the island;
crystalline.
Seclude thyself from
the fingers of the men of The World.
Birds of flight;
softened against the earth; hardened against the sky.
Avoid rest beneath
the head of the men of The World.
Fresh water of the brook;
serene.
Bubble, toil, and rush away from
The mouths of the men of The World.
Trees of the forest;
magnanimous.
Stand tenacious before the frailty of them;
fortify the earth as it is gouged by the men of The World.
Mountains that challenge the heavens;
stoic.
Hold thyself between them
the men, and The World.
Salt-water of the sea;
viscous.
Run thyself down the gullet
of the men of The World.
Cattle of the fields;
naive.
Hold thy tongue and stomach;
do not slave to the men of The World.
Fangs of the exiled hunters;
voracious.
Bare thy teeth against them;
consume the meat of the men of The World.
Children of men;
ambiguous.
Remain at play; thy memory will wither of
the men of The World.
Men of The World;
insolent; gluttonous.
Sit idle and fat;
thy follies shall decay beneath the history of The World.

We are slaves of our thoughts, as they bifurcate down crossroad after crossroad, as they diverge in all different directions and force us to obey, and if you must defy then prepare for the pain of cracking bones and resting your head on a cinder block to sleep at night as your brain comes up with new, insufferable ways of torture to force you back down onto your knees, making you bow down. Rebel against yourself all you want but there is no escape from the dystopian society in your head. Knowing this will only make your hunger for escape even greater for we want what we can’t have.

It goes in a straight path for miles. The glossy, black marble walls on either side of me and the red velvet carpet under my bare feet. A pitch black sky lay above my head with thousands of stars. This hallway seems never ending, to go on forever. I run. I run but I don’t want to, I have no control over my body. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking and when it does I think more about what could be at the end of the hallway, I fear it. This hallway feels like home, it’s all I know so I can’t imagine anything else. Sometimes I still wonder what the end will look like, though. Will there be a wider hallway? Will the walls be velvet and the floor be marble? What if marble will have lots of spots on it like the sky? I do fear the day I finally make my escape although I know it’s inevitable.

A scorpion stings my foot and injects its pain inducing venom into me. The pain spreads throughout my body and as I suffer the scorpion laughs at me whilst I stand underneath the blazing, desert sun with nowhere to go. This vast, empty, waterless desert with nothing to see but sand. Sand as far as the human eye can see, so much empty space yet I still feel trapped in the scorpion’s presence. A dry skeleton confronts me and puts a hole into my arm and ***** all of the meat out of my body until I am only skin and bones. My skin twists and knots around my meatless bones.
I scream.
I scream.
I scream, but when I do it sounds like laughter, so the scorpion and the skeleton laugh with me.

A piano plays softly through my ears
My fingers waltz along the keys
Splaying my life out into a symphony
Every note
Cool
Calm
Cultivated  
A captivated audience is a blind one
They can't see what's going on behind stage
The puppets that rise along their strings
Forever to be suspended in space
Controlled and motivated
As long as I'm behind this piano
Mesmerizing the audience
No one will ever see the pool of blood
Arcing along my high heeled clad feet
No one will notice my strained smile
Or the flashing glint
Knives of bone
Protruding from my finger tips
Pray tell
Might I play a song for you?

Misery came to my deathbed today
changing the sheets by routine
with emphatic blue eyes
she said
"get on by"
and stroke my hair gently
while emptying the bin

Through my plastic esophagus
I gargled a moan
to remind her the ***** is full
But I wanted to shout at her
"leave me alone!"
as her sight only made me recall

who I was years before
what is left of me now
and what future above my head hover
Full of putrid decay
loss of bladder control
with an Iron lung as a lover

I gritted my teeth and I broke
my best smile
which came out as an overtaxed grin
If I make her rejoice
then miss Misery might
unplug that infernal machine

Death watches us all.
At our birth, death lies beyond sight
and is merely informed of our existence.
But as time progresses, death plods forth
from beyond the horizon to the fog’s end.
At that point, death watches,
looming in the distance,
standing, dark as night.
For the unfortunates death comes early.
For the over-extenders death waits patiently.
But for all, death comes.
We near death; death nears us,
counting down our every breath
until the last.