Light Box

Cold, warm, horrifying, inviting Grinding away at the last pink and grey pustules pooling at the bottom of my Skull Gods own light pushes and claws helplessly against thin nylon Its primordial importance Toppled by billions and billions of bright bulbs Burning and boring into my eyeballs Spiralling and spiralling down an everlasting pit of fluctuating fun and fear And skin and sin and guilt, guided Down as fast or as slow as You want, your choice Quick glimpses of the very bottom shoot sharp Icicles of despair into my sedentary soul Thick mist Clears temporarily from my Glazed eyes, I push and claw helplessly against images Of razed villages and burgundy-bloodied bodies, Kicking and Screaming against the unfeeling and undulating Dilated eyes of fellow billions