Fever dreams and rusted scissors. There’s only two ways to look at this night. I awake only to have a gritty taste of bone dust in my throat. A reminder of events past. Sweating plagues, rebuilding strength for the hunt that’s to come. I can barely open my eyes. Thoughts of old cloud my judgment. I shouldn’t think these things, but the thoughts commence infernally. My glands are swollen. I know there’s an infection within, Viral?? Mental? I’ve seen these nightmares up close and have fed deep into their madness. It’s autumn now and yet I long to sit in the garden. Bleed upon the stone, Lost in lucid trance. No more memories, no more hauntings. I must purge these inside weaknesses to start anew. Arise structured forms, sway and move at my command for I am creator. This sickness shall fall and wither as the leaves of change. Skin, fall, wither so the insects will consume. Light dwelling within must surface and speak. I no longer fear change, I embrace it.
Spread my ashes in the bloom of nature’s glow, for Memories on wings of a hymn shall be rebirth. Give power to symbols and names. The children swarm down the swamp’s end, Awaiting the movement. Unsung, Blood fills our lungs as we go. The whispers from the dead keep me up at night. There’s fear outside your door. That the devil may bite. Reside in my garden and drink deep the waters of my insanity.
Buried within one’s self is the creator of existence. A god inside an animal. Acknowledgments bring growth. Watch it flourish.
Copyright © Pauly Plaster J.R. | Year Posted 2014
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