scorchmark saturday

the air is electric
frantic
everything feels
at the edge
of falling apart

it is all
in my head

he whispers
desperate
hopeful
choosing to believe
it is his
madness
not the crushing
despair of reality
causing the world
to crumble

he needs to write
to spill his guts
and play
in the fluids
as they gurgle
into the aether
to flay his flesh
and poke around
in the horrors
lurking just
within the shadowy
insidious wonder
keeping his
perpetual agonies
swirling about

faster and faster
he dips from
adoration to
redundancy
repeating the same
tired refrains
restrained by
his own inadequacies
slamming the brush
spamming the keys
strumming the frayed
heartstrings through
one more riveting
display of denial

the air is electric
sparking off of
bare musculature
scorch marked soliloquies
at the edge
of falling apart

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