I chase my thoughts in circles with you at its center,
Clawing at my mind's eye with fists of cotton
Growing dizzy in the pursuit
With the taste of distain and disillusion
Wet on the lips.
My preferred indifferent,
A noxious shot of novocain into the temporal lobe
Leaving you scrambled like eggs
With a slice of butter and a pinch of salt.
The soft ease of slipping beneath the surface
Only to be jerked away
With the sudden revelation of choaking on your bath water
That never turned to wine and in the end left you unclean.
You step into a thin film of filth that clings to the skin
Your new robe fit for a king.
A garment to marvel for the ages
Tanned in sadness, stitched with pain, and hemmed from anguish
A death shroud taught to stand like a man.
Beatings grow stale after time
Leaving the only real wounds just beneath the skin,
The ones that never seem to scab over
Even when left unpicked.
Tomorrow’s dreams always lay on the other side of Sisyphos’ bolder;
Your clouds fill my eyes upending my equilibrium
Sending me stumbling from one misnomer to the next,
Focus cuts hard to port shattering against the rocks of reason
Driven onward with that abstract compulsion
To look under all the lids and behind each door for what is not there.
It’s seeing the finished statue still laying in the ruff uncut stone and knowing it will never surface
As false phantoms whisper sweet untruths
To lure me back to my golden fetters
To watch the shadows dance across my caves wall.
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