My eyes,
they were clear once
and saw- without much knowing,
the world
as it was to me then
a glistening thoughtless place-
in sharp and bright actuality.
And now,
crippled as they are
ravaged by disease and agony
they see,
a world
in dim and darkened filth
a pure and simple
reality.
Acid washed
In its infancy it sat and shuddered,
burnt, vitriolic and expanding
riding the crimson blood-splashed rapids,
It curved and wound, spreading agony without discretion,
cruising on a tidal wave of endorphins and plasma till I found myself embraced
in the torment of my own aesculapian understand of my eventual demise.
Now let me be our guide:
There will be a piano there, a blanket with holes and a stamp, illegible, faded and clutched many, many times. You will ignore it other than to observe the hole with contempt. It is imperfect. You will have a bed, with a curtain that pulls down easily on a little round-about-track. A set of drawers with a code: epinephrine, haldol, diazepam, lidocaine, within. They will not let you walk, so you will write furiously, fingers sliding across thoughts and paper manic yet restrained, little finger smudged with black as it slides across the cool slips, rationing ink and pages because soon you'll run out, time will be up. You'll feel the needle in your arm shudder as you breathe and the skin on your ribs crawl back, pull away. Away is exactly where you want to be. And knowledge goes from being power to being simply horrifying. You'll see more here than you wanted to. You'll wonder when they started counting you as a number rather than a girl. You'll miss drawing and oils, photos and acrylic. Canvas stretched tall and looming, industrial against brick walls in a dimly lit studio, dancing to a beat, laughing with a friend at midnight and painting while being, and just being while doing, and just feeling as one should, downing coffee, singing late into the night, not feeling your skull shatter when you laugh. And late, late at night you'll sneak out from your bed and walk the hall up and down. You hallucinate paisley patterns on plain disinfected tile and you delight in the creations your brain is painting. Feeling that acid wash though your veins when you smile and feel it turn like a diamond edged record through your cerebellum. Prayers will turn wicked- Glass in the bloodstream, a violent artful death.
burnt, vitriolic and expanding
riding the crimson blood-splashed rapids,
It curved and wound, spreading agony without discretion,
cruising on a tidal wave of endorphins and plasma till I found myself embraced
in the torment of my own aesculapian understand of my eventual demise.
Now let me be our guide:
There will be a piano there, a blanket with holes and a stamp, illegible, faded and clutched many, many times. You will ignore it other than to observe the hole with contempt. It is imperfect. You will have a bed, with a curtain that pulls down easily on a little round-about-track. A set of drawers with a code: epinephrine, haldol, diazepam, lidocaine, within. They will not let you walk, so you will write furiously, fingers sliding across thoughts and paper manic yet restrained, little finger smudged with black as it slides across the cool slips, rationing ink and pages because soon you'll run out, time will be up. You'll feel the needle in your arm shudder as you breathe and the skin on your ribs crawl back, pull away. Away is exactly where you want to be. And knowledge goes from being power to being simply horrifying. You'll see more here than you wanted to. You'll wonder when they started counting you as a number rather than a girl. You'll miss drawing and oils, photos and acrylic. Canvas stretched tall and looming, industrial against brick walls in a dimly lit studio, dancing to a beat, laughing with a friend at midnight and painting while being, and just being while doing, and just feeling as one should, downing coffee, singing late into the night, not feeling your skull shatter when you laugh. And late, late at night you'll sneak out from your bed and walk the hall up and down. You hallucinate paisley patterns on plain disinfected tile and you delight in the creations your brain is painting. Feeling that acid wash though your veins when you smile and feel it turn like a diamond edged record through your cerebellum. Prayers will turn wicked- Glass in the bloodstream, a violent artful death.
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