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5
Running in epileptic circles
my dreams that can't even escape
these malemetal mindtraps
securely locking up the bodies of the
evildoers happening to catch my soul
between the stainlesssteel and whitewash
and scratchy blankets on my cheek
my eyes sticking, body convulsing
and the Watchers! I can't take it
I feel my sanity quickly fleeing the beady
unblinking soulless inhumanity
black warts on the ceiling
I frantically count relying on obsessive compulsions
to sleep. I sleep out of the sour sweat of fear
but sleep only leads me to
running in epileptic circles

It was all taken
bare. that's how I was
naked labrat surrounded by
murderers
leaking sanity nastily
from artificial orifices
All the world part of perpetual seizures
running in epileptic circles
Ek Jul 2022
I sit in complete silence for a moment
Not of the world but to myself
My glasses closed up on a table
Looking up to a world of blurry

Lights that are still and moving
Lights that are as bright as the stars
Eye of the day, eyeing me down
Metropolis of eyeing lights

I should feel a familiar feeling
A welcome home to the old and known
A welcome to a world I've bid farewell
From which I've turned and taken my leave

I am trapped by skyscraping bars
I am scrutinized like a labrat
Harsh and cold white billboard lights
The microscopic bend of mall mirrors

The overbearing heat of the sun
Oppressive heat, foot on my back
I lie exposed to the elements
A sun kept alive by artificiality
Mark Armstrong Feb 2018
Too old for a visa, too young for the farm
Too straight for the army, too gay for the guards
If you’ve got no calling, no fella, no wife
Have a bunk in the hall at Cape Christ

Walk a dowry down the aisle on a leash and a promise
Hand on holster handing over the hostage
On a dotted line date with a beard-slash-bride
And need a Roman ransom? Think Christ

If you’re sick of the same ***** giving you grief
Don’t lower yourself, turn the other cheek
And if he breaks your jaw, then my advice?
Don’t come running to me, blame Christ

Give the devil on your shoulder a little nibble
Every now and again to keep things civil
And before the tread’s worn off your conscience, right...
Draw a cross in the air and call Christ

What do you sell the man who’s seen it all?
Ketamine, bath salts, Adam and Paul
If sir needle and pipes says he needs a new vice
Pull the spiritual card and play Christ

When you’ve just reconciled yourself with death
And they want a labrat for the time you’ve left
When the doctors too fond of his own **** voice
**** the medicine man, choose Christ

Have you been leading death on a wild goose chase?
Trying to buy some time to clean your slate?
Call a priest around, he’ll set things right
When you’re ready to croak it, plead Christ

The Word rattles in the chests of the last clergymen
Who drop dead like the devil overheard-ye-and
The women look willing while the men look bored
But they couldn’t trust women with the Word of the Lord

Unless the Eucharist feels like chiselling a nick
Off the philosophers stone and swigging it quick-ly
Down with a bottle of B
Then I guess it’s not for me

— The End —