i think it’s broken

I think it’s broken.

I mean,

on the outside

my hands glide

over shimmering

shiny polished to

perfection

steel,

and I mean,

the engine runs well

quite swell.

it’s ready to take flight

you may think

I’m quite right

 

open the door;

it’s

deconstructed

words

thorned berries

sharp sounds of

syllables,

unwanted.

Haunted

crying

mumbling

stumbling

over wires

in puddles

scratched knuckles

electrocute me

maybe i’ll be free

 

and maybe you’ll

get past all that

but oh honey

how funny.

pass the haze

and it’s

numbers

static numbers-

piling over numbers

climbing over

calculator tiles

for miles

counting

the crumbs i had

for breakfast

and lunch

and dinner

and yesterday’s meals

and hell maybe last

week

and ill label that

biscuit i hid in the pocket

behind the dinner table,

crushed by my boot

because it wasn’t on the

timetable

 

and at the very back

on the walls,

i’ll have beautiful angels

with

red halos

carved on to

shadows of my

thoughts-

they just love picking at

the light and

dimming it, just slightly,

politely

“don’t take it personally,

but I might just,

since I must,

combust this

lust for joy”

and i’ll bow down to

that

bow down to claws

that clench over

something bright,

ill give in to the dark,

the pain

let me drain into the sink,

 

sometimes i enjoy it

 

i just might

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One thought on “i think it’s broken

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