The Cave

Wallowing in the internet became my greatest hobby. 

I’m seeking attention from a childhood desire to be loved.

The waste of time never registers my thought

And I’m left in a panic of false action. 

My words are rushed and painted;

Like oil works exposed to humidity and touch.

The color of my expression is faded;

What I write happens to be too much.

Conventionality bores me without death.

Unconventional methods are too cliche.

How dare I mock each living breath,

In a somber world full of grey?

I’ve never liked stanzas for their organization

Yet, I’m hard to follow anywhere else

So for the the pleasure of the writers at the leisure of disintegration,

Your satisfaction must lie in the rise of your pulse.

You’ll be riding cliffs of doom on which I dangle words;

The lasting thrill over nights of lightning….

Observation carries the sweetest burdens,

Of those who find my nature frightening. 

As a monster banished to a cave, I lurk in murky waters

Seeking your tourist attraction to my lair

Will you give me the payment of attention like a captive otter?

Or leave me lonely in despair?

The cave I furnish with Kodak pictures from CVS,

Comes fully equipped with sleeping bags and burnt candles.

I’m a failed magnetic strip found in a VHS tape,

Found too tangled to handle.

Long ago, I cut my hair and changed my face;

Citing a period of reinvention.

Now, it’s become too hard to trace

The relapses and interventions. 

Grueling labor of intricate pain laces my bones and confiscates my brain

Asylums are indeed made for the insane, but I am something worse.

I am cursed to the cave.

Brilliance wavers despite extinction, none of the rest know where we’ve been.

Our exile in violence because we were radiant in our troubles led to confinement in an area defined as extraterrestrial conspiracies.

I’ll burn the beeswax candles and cover the flame from the ceiling ores dripping dark poison.

I’ve slipped down the rock and scraped my skin 

From head to toe in extravagance.

Bandages cover none of the expense of skinning myself alive.

Bare skin covered in ripples like water rushing toward  mud

My feet squish; feeling soft clay stabilizing my legs.

Sentenced to die misunderstood, little fish nibble at my toes

I’m not always alone.