no. 13, words

been a bad couple days in my brain

the prison of loneliness has grown more bitter

solitary resignment

not consensual, not by choice, nor grand design

a contextual manifestation of sublime horror and traumatic intuition

this terra incognito, this wasteland of one

alcohol doesn’t numb it, drugs cannot tame it, airing it makes it worse

but it rakes it’s dirty claws down the inside of my skull until i beg it to stop

please help

call me your whore, make me your creature, your slave

just make the voices stop until yours is the only one i hear

drown me in your touch

baptize me and make me whole again

or set my body afloat on the tides of despair, fire a lone arrow and set my corpse ablaze as the waters sweep me to sea

vindicate, supplicate, desecrate, obliterate me

end this agony and ressurect me in the calming touch of nuclear decadence

and as i head to the light at the end of the tunnel, both middle fingers extended to the heavens

pull me back with the simple calling of my name

an utterance on the lips of an angel

a solemn finality, the last plea of the damned

inmate number thirteen

sentenced to death by his own trembling hand

in a prison he forged from the chains of desire


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