| Alizarinkryz
- on POX
Oh how does this all come together?
How does this become such a blistering
heap of balderdash? I did not have much
to do with this, no I certainly did not
have anything to do with this. This was
not the ideas that which conjured itself
from my own thought proceesseeees.
I was there as a follower minding my own.
Thrown forth upon such a cavalcade
that which was not mine bidding.
How to explain...? One should
start from its beginnings. I was alone.
Trapped inside the confines of my
manic depression thinking and scheming
of how to pursue a lifestyle
of recreation and solace...
They came to me on that day.
Snatched me up with banterings of
spaceships and world domination!
Oh how it all sounded so threatening,
and yet the excitment I felt. I welcomed
them and their chants with slightly
apprehensive outstretched arms.
Should I? Dare I? Shant I?
Can't I? Dant I?
Oh for there is no one who can guide
towards the right passage of choice
for myself. Shall I trust those voices
that which reside within me? Even
though those inner most innerds
warn me and try to steer me
otherwise. "Take the direction
of the other!" They wail inside
my head. "NO!" With damning
defiance I scrap their words and
choose what will inevitably morph
my being into the writhing pukous,
cancer that toils before you.
AND NOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!
I bring you to the time we call the present.
Betwixt decoratives of tin foil and garbage
handcrafted by the claws of a simpleton.
Second hand hazards that scrape these
corneas and retinas with a furiousness.
It is only in this torrid present that
I experience an irritationous skin
rash of first calibur magnitude. Each
night ends in a ritual of Aveeno
marination. I think I am growing
more ill as the days progress.
FLASH!!! CAMERA ON!!!!!!!!!!!
GO! they bark at me.
YOUR'E ON POX! DO POX! BE POX!
YOU ARE POX! YOUR'E MAGNIFICENT!
Keep yourself held together POX. The world
is yours! Bare with us and your lacking
bounty of nothing that which we have
promised you with flourish. Wealth,
Control, and a cable TV. I sit, hiding
behind a missmoshed console of moth
eaten fabrics and tins plates held by
scotch tape asking...why POX?
What in the name of the Holy
Crucifixion is a POX, I don't feel right
about this. I sit anticipating inevitable
anxiety. It is hard to breathe sometimes.
I want this circus of sadism to stop!
My words do not matter to them.
I will suffocate of POX!
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