Nightmare Disposal
There are skeletons in the wardrobe but they’re home and dry
Looked after properly moth balled and yet unkindly falling apart
Conscience is layered just as are subconscious wishes and fears
Sometimes I play with the bones and take them to the junkyard
They call it recycling but I offer them as they are as good as new
Pennies for thoughts and a pound for forgetting two for the pair
The tip is a maze of rubbish and indiscriminate waste laid to rest
Waiting for an almighty crusher to dispose of false evidence
Because memories can be tricky and biased and fail to disclose
That perfect angle of disharmony revealing anger and pain
As I scoop all sorts of garbage one by one into the oblivious skip
A decomposed cartilage flies straight back into my worried mind
‘Don’t leave me here for I was the glue and cushioned your blows
Never abandoned you when the road seemed hard and progress was slow’
Vertebrae mingle with screws bolts mesh wire and grinders but
Refuse to go down without fight before reflecting the torn spine
Of a book once loved and caressed and discarded without mercy
Like the knowledge I could pass on from lonely and sleepless nights
When metacarpals scratch an unwanted toy soldier they moan
‘Carpe diem’ but they feel like beggars next to graveyards of time
Dis-balance reaches its heights when one femur remains in sight
And hopes for increased shell fire or trigger at the bottom of the pile
‘Please God there must be a mercy killer waiting for fresh blood’
But the plea vanishes without echo and the wounds march ahead
A frizzled rope dangles around what once was a neck and survives
Between atlas and axis desperately trying not to become disconnected
Wounds have dried yet injuries linger on but the Barbie Doll nurse
Is too busy attending to make up and camouflage and waiting for Ken
Thus the corpse has to make do with ribbons and medals to bandage
A cascade of emotions and reasons and of confusion and doom
Like a headless combatant I stand near the garbage and almost fall
Into the deep aperture of depression that waits to be nourished
I do not quite know what to do with myself and which way to go
But then keep the skull as I might need it as housing for a vanishing mind
Dig out a heel for good measure in case I decide to rock myself back to sleep
While doomsday prevails I give thanks that my pillow still shelters my soul
25th October 2019
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2019
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