Peristalsis of Darkness
Recumbent, crippled: a conscious corpse
Life calling for me to follow
Mentality, it warps
Why does my skull feel hollow?
As I wait for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Emotions exhaust; they yawn, they sleep
I wonder why I'm awake
Why aren't I comatose counting sheep?
Or swimming in some chocolate lake?
What must I do- for God sake?
The black weighs heavy; unyielding, dense
Two jigsaw pieces left fitting
Hair strands react to such alien sixth sense
Perpendicular; lascivious in their sitting
Buried skin is forsaken; solitary, unwitting
Ladders of monotony, the itch to climb
But I'm yet to grapple a rung
Whispers of breathing chant and chime
Whistling from each glass lung
Will my reality sing unsung?
The dark devours me; surreptitious, slow
My body of waning evanescence
When will this serotonin begin to flow?
My prison of subtle quiescence
Paralysed by every cell of my essence
Like Mephistopheles, only I serve a devil within
Post mortem, my thoughts painstakingly dissected
Wounds of the past are tough like pigskin
Restrained to relive still affected
I wonder if they could be ejected
As the darkness lifts no weight has shifted
The day pours into the night
It's not as though I am God gifted
As I am still one with such bastard blight
How am I supposed to stand up and fight...?
Recumbent, can't move: a conscious corpse
Life now screaming for me to follow
Mentality; it warps
Why does my skull still feel hollow?
As I will for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Copyright © Matt Price | Year Posted 2023
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