FRAYED ANGEL HAIR (A TANGLED MESS)

Entrance to my anger…

Step over the threshold

Now push at the heavy door that’s me,

It’s hinged to the heart, as it swings open,

And bangs with ease

Erosion, forget-me-not…“Erosion”,

As bulldozed splinters of pain fleck off

Freedoms breath is cupped by this action

It’s a suffocating squeeze

i bemoan, “That which is pushed eventually must fall over”

  ____________

Fingers of tumultuous jostle me –

i just push them aside, as it

Attempts to throw me hard toward kingdom-come…

Yes, truth blackens all vision

And remorse burns introspection until blurred

i am helplessly helpless, no restoration

As whirlwinds of self-analysis triggers a flapping numb

i bemoan, “There’s so much bitterness and bad memories consigned”

  ____________

i have no voice (it’s been turned off),

There’s no strength of decency, and certainly no laughter…

When wedging myself between barely visible and God, i’m cursed

Where I’m supposed to be going?

Yes; I have been blackened!

And bullied!

Why bellow?

i'm yellow

This build up had made me

Blue...

My heart maneuvers through the scenery; a block of ice

Oh weary me 

It is oh so terribly

Cruel!

 ____________ 

There are too many loco motions of unfurled notions,

It doesn’t matter ‘cause it is a GOD DAMN mental free-for-all!

i am

Stuck in gear, Stuck in gear –

Stuck in IT, Again...

ONLY to sh-ssh-shudder,

s- s-st-stutter

And stall

   And far into my space i go

                                    Becoming dark, a slave of this -

                S

                      W

   I             

              R 

                             L 

              I  

  N

                   G

Lunacy –

A prisoner,

To this cartoon that’s me,

  ____________

When i FUCK UP,

It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale.

Perfect. i’m a haunted person

With my soul as a battle-ground,

i can’t get my dead man’s eyes off of myself

There is nothing else... i am nothing more

i cower under these eyes

That has drowned my spirit

(And) as always – it silences my cries

 ____________

i don’t think any one man’s life is really that important …

But what he does with it and leaves behind is

The ticking clock comes singing / all angry and accusatory

Often not much has changed in our actual life –

Yes, i get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep,

Thinking that if i look away,

It might be gone by the time i look back

       But inside there’s an invisible world not far away

In which there’s human suffering,

“Can this drama, the supreme embodiment of the human condition, possibly be okay?”

It’s all scary.

Especially when i hear the question echo –

What hurts?

- ooznozz