a blank spot in the corner of a page
embedded deeply into a recess
an indent, a void, a hole to crawl into
her twisted little spindle legs
dance along the wind's disgrace
a loveliness to break and fall
surprises the attendants of the ball
angled and arched in sickly ways
the movement of the deranged
a swirl and a bend of backwards knees
the gracefulness of dis-release
she the iris of no one's eyes
in the corner with fish net tights
smiles with the blackest night's lips
makes to leave with a frightening kiss
her frame snaps with a mangled sound
and all that's left is her tattered gown
a slow end to the day, unday
rewinding at such slow speeds
the clock whines in protest
a reversal of purpose disclosed
with the tick of uncertainty
lying hands and ragged faces
greet the day's unrest
with fragile waves and chimes
signalling the end of the night
worked up weekends hyped on caffeine daydreams
jolts of chest pain and unease unsettled stomachs
scream to be retched out of discomfort this boiling
of discontent swimming with bile and long forgotten acids
churning out batteries and powering down machines
test tubes and vials exchanged for veins wrought with
desensitized coatings of malnutrition plugging into
sockets and the sickness plaguing the rat
i can't understand this war of worlds
that spreads through my synapses
i didn't ask for this, no, not this
the cyclical rounding of uneven letters
the careless lashing of harsh verbs
a language i still don't comprehend
by the verbal graces lacking from me,
i should have neglected the pen,
but, these letters form on their own
jibberty jabber
whack quack
bumble grumble
and stop
this is just a test
please remain calm
at all times
even when the thought
seems entirely absurd
lost in a chaos of sound
the shivers begin to take their hold
drips of water fall down a waiting forehead
this one has forgotten an umbrella
in the deluge of rain and noise
a simple mis-thinking
pulled into the undertows
dragging, dragging through weeds
disbelief roaring through lion's jaws
as the rain soaks into tired feet
something short of disgusting, she's a growing calamity
shouldn't be so revolting, but she knows not what else to be
there's isn't anything to approve of, just simply to deny
the world would crush beneath her, the days would run and hide
she's an atrocity on two legs, with the burden of her weight
while she could be easily remedied, she'd rather grow a waste
she's an ogre with every step, shaking and breaking the ground
the beast released s'been known to bring huge cities crumbling down
underneath all of the rubble, underneath all of the debris
she ties her dreams to shoelaces of the feet she cannot see
complacently displaced out of a home and bed to stay in,
a stuffed animal sleeps soundly on the coach, tucked into a corner
it's fur is matted and faded with years of constant holding
static from the tv makes a dismal lullaby for young ears
craving for a mother's voice they'll never get to hear
about a hum, not heard about ear level slightly sliding backwards
a pitch of discontent ah, that's it she would smile for
a moment before the song ends patiently waiting for the next one
to start up a singular moment she would claim as her own, such spaces
between the songs were meant to dwell within with enough time to
contemplate the previous lyrics and the lyrics to come wholeheartedly
welcome into waiting ears
the end of a poetic nightmare should very well be well written as of course
it will be expected to be as such and should meet the expectations of those who
actually make it all of the way through the roundabout routes words can take and imply
such things about others that would simple stab their hearts clear through, but most of those
who deserve as much will not receive it when the mind light shuts off in the glaring
onslaught of language incomprehensible to the minute eggshell they call a thinking device
the aforementioned devices are better left for those who use them: one could say the same
as for the true definition of the written word