The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to the unnamed Room.
Deep inside the tomb…
my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.
Dancing through the corners of my soul like,
like bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.
Sliding between the ceramic maze…
a hell to be razed.
Alas, the vow.
For little do your midget demons know,
it was written long ago,
a wall made of cork…
‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’
There will be many more congruous to me.
Something your nefarious pathology seems to have forgot.
A puzzle piece to your frenzied stabs at inner peace.
A blood run to my door.
Thus, as love turns black and blue.
I will forever be waking up instead of coming to.