While poetry isn’t the main genre that I write in, I do dabble in poetry and enjoy writing poems, so here is one of those poems.
And still we go on
The sweaty grip of insanity pulling at my mind,
Stretching the taffy fibers of the universe
While an old friend pounds on the side my skull.
Listening to the clacking of demise,
The comforting stab of real pain
Bringing my mind back to its white cage.
Screaming until my throat is chapped
But no noise has escaped me,
Comfortably sitting in the pointy chair of
The judge, the jury, the executioner, and the condemned.
Gently rubbing indentations in my skin
From the hard corners, from the spongy grass,
From the fearful stillness like the cold fingers of the empty cosmos.
Waiting for the cusp of sleep, weariness,
Yearning for the pull of nothing.
The gentle rush of release,
Unedited version of the photo here.