Months ago
weeks ago
months ago-- adios
lysergic nightmare,
who's controlling ways convinced
me to evolve into an obedient mess

good riddance .

Months later
weeks later
months later-- ¿como estas?
haunt me haunt me
taunt me and slash my sanity
who's crippled fingers are clenched
upon a shredding vine.
Welcome back.
you've returned to me,
only this time youre grinning in my direction
through the cranium of the only thing I have.

Transform her?
Ruin me.

Transform me?
Ruined me already,
not ready for another.

Stop stop stop stop stop.
Inflict blood upon the flesh
of an angel indigenous to a land
far far far far away.

Por favor.


¿Fin?

Fingers crossed.

The Shell, he Screamed,

Is All That Matters when

ladders cause the Whites of

your Hands to Decay as The

Altitude becomes Less of a Phobia.

This Skin--this Dead, Chapped Skin

is the Epitome of an impressive Accomplishment.

And This Bone,

When Evolved into the Same Consistency,

is Spat upon If It's Appearance is Over an Inch Long.

You Sick, Sick Ape.

You Ignorant Chimp

(Limping up Vines and

Coughing up Spines)

Who You Are dances Before Your Forehead

and Sings Sonnets of Sandpapered Perfections

to Those who Unfortunately Exist.

You are a Mystery.

A Wooden Chair Before me;

each leg unequal in length

and the length of my breath could

revive as

many dead as

alive.

My date of Birth.

Important Numbers.

Meaningful Memories tossed carelessly

into the unoccupied Cubby of Air

I've been Staring at for a Century now.

It's Listening, though,

and It's feedback is Juxtaposed

with Every Delicate Action

performed within

Firey, Diabolic braincases

consisting of

bone and bone

and bone (is what they consist of)

Im Sobbing Now,

and searching...

Searching the Junk Drawers

for An unknown gadget that

was known about a minute ago.

Oh, It's attached to me.

Oh, It's Placed in my chest

keeping me alive.

Some

times

I

forget

Things.

The fragile clock's repetitive melody began slipping 6 feet under, but maybe I wont change the batteries this time.

A simply elegant tune played every hour closer to death and the life after the afterlife im living in currently seems rather cruel.

A DING and a depressing growl;
Im closer to dying-- like that fragile clock that reminds me every sixty misty minutes that im wishing wouldnt finish.