Blind Descent
you're dying
You’re dying all over again, your kidneys failing your ribs collapsing; you’re feeling like a cloud slowly dismantling and vanishing – dying all over again. Inside out, your breath is a tragedy, your words a lament. The guilt is licking you all up like parched succubus, the desperation in your tic-toc heart faulty and rusted. But, guess what, rump.
You’re no dead man.
You’re no dead man walking; you’re an inhaling cadaver that wants nothing more than to turn as cold as your heart. Inside out; what did you always say? (“Life’s so much shit.”) But what did you ever do to change? You were dimes and nickels lost under the rushing cars, too dirty and forgotten to ever be wanted again. Not even worth a glance. You’d let the acidic unfairness slowly melt every membrane of your sanity until you turned into an embodiment of your fears.
You’re driving over the speed limit now.
How does that feel? The sliver of momentary rebelliousness bursting through those cracking ribs and stuttering heart; how does that feel? Freed from the rules of society and the base of humanity. How does it feel? Ripping your skin and finding the demons you always chased away; how does it taste? Your own blood on the rim of your lips and base of your throat – the concoction of fermentation and inexistent dreams scorching your own insides. And you think you can make it all better.
No, actually.
You think about sex and liquor and all the false delights you’d ever tasted. Your mind is rotting and dying all while you wretch laughter and cheers. Your foot is pushing harder and harder and for one last time you spit on the name of life. For one last time you taste all you’d never tasted before.
How did it feel?
You’re no dead man.
You’re no dead man walking; you’re an inhaling cadaver that wants nothing more than to turn as cold as your heart. Inside out; what did you always say? (“Life’s so much shit.”) But what did you ever do to change? You were dimes and nickels lost under the rushing cars, too dirty and forgotten to ever be wanted again. Not even worth a glance. You’d let the acidic unfairness slowly melt every membrane of your sanity until you turned into an embodiment of your fears.
You’re driving over the speed limit now.
How does that feel? The sliver of momentary rebelliousness bursting through those cracking ribs and stuttering heart; how does that feel? Freed from the rules of society and the base of humanity. How does it feel? Ripping your skin and finding the demons you always chased away; how does it taste? Your own blood on the rim of your lips and base of your throat – the concoction of fermentation and inexistent dreams scorching your own insides. And you think you can make it all better.
No, actually.
You think about sex and liquor and all the false delights you’d ever tasted. Your mind is rotting and dying all while you wretch laughter and cheers. Your foot is pushing harder and harder and for one last time you spit on the name of life. For one last time you taste all you’d never tasted before.
How did it feel?