Brain Jumps
I. The Sonic Surge
Bombastic Brain jumps.
Tornadic Tunes bump.
Sticky Snow dumps.
Can you keep up?
Clandestine Cover up
With make-up.
The blue blooming bruises
In your sacred heart,
Seared from the start.
Hellbound Hopeless child,
Running wild
With the fearsome fire of desire.
Put to stabbing shame,
Left in perpetual pain
For a boy without a name.
II. The Mirror Maze
Infectious Imaginarium.
House of haunted mirrors.
Skewered perceptions.
Fractured reality
For a man with no face.
With or without you,
I am in forever altered states.
I am aware of my inherited worth.
And tolerance that cannot abate.
Obliterate your senses.
You are overwhelmed.
The tables have turned.
I declared, I saw.
I came; I wanted to conquer.
I was denied, denigrated.
With mutual transgression.
III. The Wick & The Wolf
Feeble excuses for romance
And friendship.
Overwhelming betrayals.
Spirit Wolf baying in the night,
Searching for a light.
I need the wick to ignite.
My mind is a candle stick,
Burning from both ends.
My nails, chewed to the quick.
The faceless crowds give me the ick.
I am only sick in the head
With their dread.
IV. The Martyr’s Blanket
I need a warm bed,
Next to warm bodies
With warm blood
Pouring from the cut vein—
A saint for the pain.
Holy martyr of my retribution.
My evolution.
Second chances,
Wrapped in my blanket.
I crave the injury.
Empathy.
We are birds in cages,
Opened to the pages.
V. The Ravers & The Temple
I need ragers and ravers,
With green hair and toxic vapors.
Boots tied to the knees,
And knives buried in sleeves
Over the hearts they wear.
I am a nurse nightingale,
But only for those who earn the right.
The warrior full of fright.
A knight of my temple—
The body,
The dimples on my backside.
I need a carefree ride,
Into the next verse,
The next station.
A contribution.
A relation.
VI. The Chest & The Cracks
All I have received—
It was stagnation.
Desperation, unholy trepidation.
My face got dirty from the make-up,
Made up lies
To sedate their worries.
I have fallen between the cracks,
In the chambers of your bloody pump.
Drowning in ventricles of vanity.
Not a victim—
A participant.
I claw my way through,
And out
Of your chest back into the world.
I return, resume.
I restart, redo,
Rebirthed in the dew.
VII. The Eyes That See
Searching for something new—
A fresh pair of eyes
To see what is inside of me.
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