Suicidal Influx

Mon, 03/16/2015 - 13:29 -- Cryptic

Fool me one time shame on you…Fool me twice, can't put the blame on you…Fool me three times, fuck the peace signs load the chopper, and let it rain on you precipitating shells of emptiness disturbing the atmosphere surrounding its casing. Sending sound waves that ring to your ears as wind chimes ring in the southern breeze that leisurely passes the front porch you built out of my transgressions. Rocking in peace with a devilish grin plastered upon your face pridefully looking at the growing weeds of naïve immunity that grows into the horizon. Uncontrollably devastating the bountiful nourishment of this fine construct of a mind that so adamantly foiled what influx of tragedy you unleashed, without so much as a second thought to the elaborate nature of your being. Falling into the lingering effects of this hell fire engulfing what purity still remains. So when the darkness comes, while everybody else is sleeping, I’m awake burning inside not from passion, but from an overwhelming sense of implosion scrambling mental processes keeping me right where you want me… Standing here with my jacket draped across my feet in the arctic winds of yet another January night. Unsure why or how I reached my current location, but don’t really care to come up with answers to these questions. Numb to reality as it fades away. Street lights dimming in the background shifting into formation. A formation of what seems to be a band of striations. Just floating in space in the construct of darkness that now consumes me and only me. Showing no other being of life, but knowing I am not alone. For insomnia is quite, but makes its presence known. The ghostly voice that whisk its way through the molecules of oxygen in the air disturbing the very nature of their bonds, making it so hard to breathe, on its way through the canals of these ears where it rolls on my ear drums irritating every nerve with in its inner chambers ensuring that the message is clear. He says, “You won’t be sleeping tonight”. A simple phrase you hear and wonder, what’s the fear in that? But after 4 years there is no longer a need to hear all that this phrase entails. Where you see the headline… I see the backstory. The story that to this day still remains in the background, off the record, and hidden in the archives of this mind. Forever exacerbating this leaking faucet of an existence collecting in a pool at my feet clearer then the world’s most exquisite diamond. Demanding constant and repetitive maintenance only to provide a short time without the incessant dripping, breaking what sanity I still contain. But this pool, this pool of evidence still remains, so I shrink to my knees assessing the amount of work it would take to rid of this breach in security and return its systems back to homeostasis. When it occurred to me there were no reflections present not even my own. Just light blue beautifully refreshing water calling me into its soothing scenery. Luring every last hair on my body into a well concealed snare that ends the very thought process I failed to comprehend, flashing all my nightmares before my eyes. All the times I cried in my sleep waking up with tears eroding the keratin off my cheeks carrying them to reside on the center of my pillow where they are imprinted into the fabric like my own custom monogram. Reminding me of all the times I,” zoned out”, or should I say “tunneled in” to every painful and painless way I can disappear from the face of the earth. Staring into open space down a tunnel of pulsating opportunities that present themselves as climactic previews on its walls diluting the sounds of any and every one not in its focal region, and amplifying the inner chaos of contradicting anticlimactic decisions I forever will fear may one day consume me in its unrelenting grasp. Squeezing the will to resist out of the tissues in my organs, constricting the pathways of blood carrying hope and promise, and restricting the inhalation of determination into these lungs. Hyperventilating I emerge out of the pool terrified out of my mind. Seeing pumping striations of light that match my heart beat slowly disperse into known figures lighting my surroundings to see myself… standing here, with my jacket draped across my feet in the artic winds of yet another January sunrise. Unsure why or how I reached my current location, but don’t really care to come up with answers to these questions. Just staring down the side of this parking garage pupils laminated with disappointment, locked up in fear unable to move. Just looking down…..looking down at the remnants that remain of my dissolving sense of existence….

This poem is about: 
Me

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