Unhinge
Hushed, high-pitched
as the stritch-scratch of metal on a hard surface flicks
sharp, slight
shards of wood into skin; through muscle, through bone
and into a carnivorous black hole within.
The gravity of a thousand
lies
and false promises
has now set on hunched shoulders; the weight
made uncomfortable, a blanket of fibreglass that
splits
and presses
into pink-plush skin and stains it red with deceit.
A ticking of plastic hands sounds faintly like a metronome,
and it gets louder;
telling you how many more seconds you have to live,
to think,
to lie;
until your lungs will drown in crimson soaked liquid;
the colour of danger itself.
The time bomb is not patient:
no time is given to collect
thoughts,
emotions,
carnal desire.
Raw,
animal,
instincts instruct…dig harder with that
shining blade until it goes
right through
the fucking wall and out the other side.
Kill; kill what you can, until there’s nothing left.
Fuck
the world and everything, everyone in it;
so many examples of living beings that
don’t give a shit.
The epitome of selfish runs through
countless
webbed veins and twisting arteries, mixed
with tainted haemoglobin and cells that
keep you alive,
keep you insane.
Those walls are fucking covered now,
very few inches of knot-entwined brown
showing behind all the scratches in the
material; hate put into every ounce of effort
used to make those scrapes.
Wooden chips and torn-fucking-brain cells
are strewn haphazardly under bare feet,
like particles of sand edged with razorblades;
just like being at the beach.
Ha, some fucking analogy.
Waves of thought occasionally break onto that
jagged beach, bumping over the blades as they pass;
up
and over.
Laughing,
something psychotic, because Jesus, it feels fucking good…
it feels like
revenge –
pure and cold and justified revenge.
Red,
seeing red,
as those cracks and gashes in the walls pour with it;
liquid vengeance as rare as honesty. The substance
clots and swathes on the ground, fighting and sticking
under toenails and skin cells.
The marks, words, are illuminated with cherry-crimson-red-hate.
And your name is gushing the richest red in the whole fucking room...
as the stritch-scratch of metal on a hard surface flicks
sharp, slight
shards of wood into skin; through muscle, through bone
and into a carnivorous black hole within.
The gravity of a thousand
lies
and false promises
has now set on hunched shoulders; the weight
made uncomfortable, a blanket of fibreglass that
splits
and presses
into pink-plush skin and stains it red with deceit.
A ticking of plastic hands sounds faintly like a metronome,
and it gets louder;
telling you how many more seconds you have to live,
to think,
to lie;
until your lungs will drown in crimson soaked liquid;
the colour of danger itself.
The time bomb is not patient:
no time is given to collect
thoughts,
emotions,
carnal desire.
Raw,
animal,
instincts instruct…dig harder with that
shining blade until it goes
right through
the fucking wall and out the other side.
Kill; kill what you can, until there’s nothing left.
Fuck
the world and everything, everyone in it;
so many examples of living beings that
don’t give a shit.
The epitome of selfish runs through
countless
webbed veins and twisting arteries, mixed
with tainted haemoglobin and cells that
keep you alive,
keep you insane.
Those walls are fucking covered now,
very few inches of knot-entwined brown
showing behind all the scratches in the
material; hate put into every ounce of effort
used to make those scrapes.
Wooden chips and torn-fucking-brain cells
are strewn haphazardly under bare feet,
like particles of sand edged with razorblades;
just like being at the beach.
Ha, some fucking analogy.
Waves of thought occasionally break onto that
jagged beach, bumping over the blades as they pass;
up
and over.
Laughing,
something psychotic, because Jesus, it feels fucking good…
it feels like
revenge –
pure and cold and justified revenge.
Red,
seeing red,
as those cracks and gashes in the walls pour with it;
liquid vengeance as rare as honesty. The substance
clots and swathes on the ground, fighting and sticking
under toenails and skin cells.
The marks, words, are illuminated with cherry-crimson-red-hate.
And your name is gushing the richest red in the whole fucking room...