Swallow, swallow, swallow

 

STOP

 

A gray hue coats the surface of every object

 

A drought in the mind

 

Scene after scene after…

 

Black and white spots

 

It’s hard to see they’re all the same

 

From this stranded, tall platform

 

Hard to feel the tang in

 

Murky water

 

 

 

A shade of nothing

 

Your brain just fits in a small, dark box

 

Which sits listlessly in your skull

 

Some kind of magnetic seal encloses

 

Any cluster of creativity

 

You realize the necessity of spontaneous jerks

 

Of vivid changes with the ability to bring forth

 

Demons, or angels, or

 

Even vampires which you are forced to watch creep

 

In hostility to their prey

 

 

 

The subtle poison holds more value

 

Than a day spent in the bottom of a dull, white sack

 

Staring at the cold, shining barbed wire which encircles

 

The only opening, the great escape

 

An end to the consumption of what could be

 

What appears to be

 

Of what is possibly

 

A compact, bow-tied, façade

 

Decorated innocently

 

To conceal a pack of lies