What if I simply told you,
that none of this was ever supposed to happen, and that I dreamed for far more – a far-stretched, brazenly sketched imagination down upon twisted and begging knees?
Is this it, is this really the lottery for weirdos?
Wherein the 2.3percent dillusionally FRAGMENT THEMSELVES til instilled by pink poison pills… This appears to be an unprocessed apology, my friend…
And I cannot argue myself back into bed – wherein the sheets are sweatily wet and my mind creates something altogether manically far-fetched and inescapable
Sure as shit their appears to be an element of PTSD
All of these plain mundane, silly little elusive days, wherein the mis-matchings of the frayed brain hold a teenage misgiving half-heartedly at hostilised hostage – all of these OCD white-lies
About. To. Scatter. And. Summarise.
Oh my, my. oh. my, why!!?
By all unknowing accounts running on uncomfortably numb, running from both everything and impending nothing
A silhouetted screaming, scramming
You medicate to emasculate
This brain-licked, brain-locked entity
The crazy man’s 50/50, lacklustre, etch-a-sketched in-between
Two decades on and the whirlpool of wedged improbability within has seemingly managed to cease itself, yet left me anything but upright and correctified
Oh my, my. oh. my, why… have you done this to me, exactly?
Was there a treacherously inept deal bound to be, born to be, impregnably brokered at one point or an unnaturally haphazard other
Or was I, perhaps, simply asking for it, for all of this and, what’s more, all along – the jaw-dropping imbalance begging to be
Again, again, a stereotypical gain in what’s undeniably hellbent on letting itself creatively be
And to think that they bravely braced themselves to call it a silver-lining, one of an unkindly kind
I have to ask just one last unanswerable question, though…
Why steal all of me, why see fit to do any of this?
I repeat… why. see. fit!!?
This circulatory sensational paralysed me
Cognitively speaking, of course, you posed The living, seething threat
To pick up all of the vitriolic pieces while, really, I should still be dreaming
Barely breathing, revisited knee
You painted the canvas, and now I will spend the whole of my life trying to land it