Tuesday, 29 December 2015

Hallucinations of the Clouded Brain

“The Absinthe Drinker” by Pablo Picasso (1901)

On the verge of falling off several things as ladders and chairs and sanity
Isolation is ice cold
For sore throats a sip of silence will soothe the suffering
The doctor still has to treat her patients, with delicacy 
Be patient when the victims come begging 
In the mercy the victims will not feel their pain
Both the doctors and the patients live for tomorrow
For hope’s sake the victims will endure every needle  
For god’s sake the doctors will stay away from evil
Revenge is founded through music and movies

Childcares are built for the purpose of neglecting children
Victims are exclusive to reality
Some species of soldiers are untouchable
When your hat gives you away where you choose to stand out in a hairy crowd
Entangled egos are a hopeless case
There’s no freedom at the end of the tunnel
But a pile of dog shit, waiting to be stepped, upon
Never refer to the ground as the face of the earth
For no one’s face deserves to go through so much of the shit that comes with

There is a cycle to suffering
And it starts with the writer’s declaration of how much they love writing
Don't write about writing
Hypocrisy is something to be given into eventually
The next act unleashes
A shocker 
Rapid transactions follow the old man’s stage fright
He flees in his cowboy boots and brown blazer
Who grabs onto his soul still lingering on stage and gasps for air