unintelligible madness
hyenas stitched with ragged flesh
take time to toil in my head,
and junkie whores take what's mine
for their fix
in my head,
but there's no fixing my head
and my head?
above the neck, below my chest
surrounds a brain with holes the size of horse-pills
strapped in chains, squeezed for blood
on my own medieval torture rack
I think it's gone to bed
and the pills?
oh, the pills, haha
well they make me something,
I don't know if it's right or wrong.
but who does, right?
and who writes wrongs?
now this is left cliched
and my bed?
memory foam mattress under memory foam sadness
but I'm doing okay now
like a car on a plain
or a plane on a road
or maybe, just maybe
no, no
I won't explode
Posted Apr 26, 2017, 9:08 AM UTC
Wow, a very nice modernist poem. I like the line "and junkie whores take what's mine, for their fix, in my head, but there's no fixing my head." This line really sets the tone for the rest of the poem. The gritty feel of the poem really captivates the essence of what you're trying to go for. 10/10 !!!