POEM – ‘The Rotten Tired Appearance Of The Heart’

BRUTAL, HATE ALL, FOETAL,
SPEAKING A LANGUAGE NOT YET TRANSLATED, NOT YET CREATED,
A SHARD OF DARKNESS IN THE LIGHT,
A PANE OF GLASS AT PAINS WITH ITSELF.
FORESAKEN AND SHAKEN UP,
A FAKE HOPE FOR THE HOPELESS,
A SHALLOW TEAR IN THE FABRIC.
A NOD THAT BECOMES A PUNCH,
THE FOUL STENCH OF THE FALLEN,
LIE DOWN AND BE COUNTED,
BE COUNTED OUT,
BRUISED AND BROKEN – BEAUTY BELIES THE BELIEVE OF THE BRAVE,
ENSLAVED INSIDE,
INSIDE THE TRUTH OF THE MIND,
NOT FAR BEHIND FROM THE END OF DAYS,
FROM THE PIERCED SCREAMING OF SOMEONE CLOSE WITH ANOTHER.
SOAKING BLOOD THROUGH THE CURTAIN OF SKIN,
DRAPED OPEN AND EXPOSED,
ENCLOSED BENEATH THE FAÇADE,
HARD AND KNOWING AND BREATHLESS.
HOLD IT IN,
TAKE A SHOT,
STOMACH REBELS,
PILLS RETURN,
LIFE FLOODS THE RESERVOIR OF DISSENT
AND JUMPS THROUGH HOOPS OF MELANCHOLY,
CHOKING THE LIFE FROM THE UNDEAD,
SAYING THANKYOU TO THE TORTURER,
TAKE A NUMBER AND STAND YOUR GROUND
AS YOU’RE BURIED BENEATH IT
AS YOU STAMMER SILENCED IN THE COCOON OF CACOPHONY,
THE MUTED MENACE OF MANY,
THROWN TO THE LIONS
TO THE LIARS,
TO THE FIRES RAGING INSIDE NOW DAMPENED BY THE DAY,
TAUNTED BY THE NIGHT,
THE EDGE PUSHED OUT TO THE MIDDLE
TO THE CENTRE OF THE HURTING MASSES,
SAY THANKYOU AGAIN FOR THE CHANCE THAT NEVER CAME
THE CLIMAX AT THE START,
THE ROTTEN TIRED APPEARANCE OF THE HEART.

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