On the Verge

Saturday, 12 June 2010

Like the pain from unseen shards of glass,
Heady flux of fear, bad memories.
Sounds adrift like a band of bad brass,
Droning on into oblivion.

Psychadelia meets irrational pretence,
Possibilities drive you toward insanity.
Haunting ghosts stop dead in reverence,
Demons in places you once believed serene.

Blindfolded and trusting, they left you,
In a place you thought you cherished.
For your head, a twisted blunt screw,
For your mind, pure chaos.

Marooned, damned, but the fire still flares.
Anger and adrenaline, your only failsafe.
You rise, to nothing but blank stares,
Fall, they say, thou art mundane.



Groan not, you never complain.
Like water through rapids.
"I am to you, as Rivers are to Rain.
So bring it", you tell them-ill advised defiance.

Storms ravage the strongest rock,
Consumed by fate's hooliganism.
Nature and Entropy in unholy wedlock,
Savage brilliance undiminished.

Strings of unconscious thought
Swarm like crazed bugs.
Inane phantasms wrought,
Apparitions worthy of Hades.

Awareness ebbs, in turmoil you bask,
Let it slip away, will is a sinking ship.
What are you conjuring, you ask,
Well, you had a bad day and dreams beckon.