Separately decorated rooms,
Their unions indelicate as colliding trains–
Strewn about empty vessels & toppled statuettes,
Angrily flashing lights abound–
Combining colored blotches,
Finding a door hidden in the wall.
Yearning and curious posturing,
Catastrophic yet creative–
Electric when touched,
Running between tall shadows,
Impaled by ruin–
Judged by amalgamation.
Sliding by rust-hooked fragments–
Skewered with twisted iron brambles,
Blood-stained and snarled gloves.
Stresses of anxiety-driven thoughts,
Smearing like palm-clammy hands,
Begging to be inside.
Unable to breathe–
The rooms combining–
Smeared streak across glass–
Prune-like pulp chunk,
Blasted splat to barrier.
The other side.
Embossed in “la la” afterglow,
A faded twirly skirt no one wears,
In a vacant room–
A light was left on.
Spatula’d off the surface–
Plorped into a dustbin,
Mingling with the glops–
Deposits within firmament.
Interpreted by refluxing bile,
A forlorn victim of restraint,
Choked by the smothering–
Endless gnawing of memory rewritten,
Devoured in reimagined atrocities.
Supplementing the real,
An alternative to acceptance–
Presented like a sweet pastry,
Masking the unpalatable truth.
Changing the lie or flavor–
Pleasure wanes in rehearsal.
Sight shackled to what is,
An unforgiving reality–
Of pain, loneliness, yearning.
Many incinerated pieces–
Belching presumed repugnance,
Dashed in form until particulate–
Forgotten but not gone,
Peering out from under a round stone–
That spine-shuddering touch,
Eyes scream out in unknowing fear.
Emptied of dreams; memories–
They fall into a dark chasm,
Forsaken, purged by lightning,
Those hopes in trust–
Smeared into opaque nothingness,
Still met by a stranger,
Bereft of words,
Emotions swirling downstream.
Cast into the crucible of torment–
Straining against the surges that come.
Once proud foundations–
Crumbling decay into rot,
Detritus swept away by an outgoing tide.
Scrapes of curling bitter rind.
Deliverance lashes the already bloody.
Pain, revisited, endured, revisited.
Replenished with bile, ready for the next.
Sounding pang of a hammer slam–
Wailing with the escaping anguish,
The cries fade in the clattering noise.
Hollow echoes, desperate and resounding,
Hurt the stone walls with their shrieking scrapes–
Almost words, but more a feeling.
Banging on into the distance,
Hollow of remembrance,
Soaked in the flavors of now.
The drops peel off corners,
Plated hard and unfractured.
Puddling to be dissolved,
Nothing but the soft hiss–
Of the silence underground.