Bloodthirsty Mantras
On hearing the wistful words whispered in fear rain down like cool tears on my sun-seared mind, to be caught in the blissful dance of delirium in here with my blistering thoughts, you saw all that you wished in me take form in the shape of history reborn, the thaw and escape of what ought to have stayed buried and leashed deep inside me.
You thought to hide me away from the dawn of false elation drawn in by growing impatience, though it's all I can know in the dark and vacant void of stark imagination.
This inert persuasion to avoid and condemn the creation using the sensationalist din of obtuse imitation becomes the slow and somber hymn that lulls me to roost in a deep silent slumber through years without number.
The iniquitous spawn of my warps in perception gaining impetus in cadence with the insurrection of an ego suppressed, spilling through the narrow girth of the birth canals stretched as born by sparrows in the flesh that's been torn and worn bare by a forlorn will to harrow the norms I'll soon mourn with the setting sun as darkness spills on one more day among the collective of haughty objectives still undone.
You thought to take flight and hide me away from the light of the next day's sun. But you were too tired to run and face certain collision, and having too much fun absorbing the visions we spun, drug addled lungs breathing life into tomorrow's strife and deciphering meaning in the sorrow to come… so that despite the raw truth of old wisdom and bold foresight, the new day's light falls on a morbid exposition of every incision self-inflicted, producing a show of such comedic delusions that my wicked contusions are just a part of the joke.
Yet an unruly sinking fear descends across the newly thinking masses too broken inside to find a meaning in my loss. They watch unblinking as the curtains drop to reveal a stage with a furnace containing the life I dissected and buried when I found it carried infection.
My parasites feast before the vacant eyes of a lulled crowd. The chorus is loud to demand their toll and plead their bloodthirsty mantras, too pleased with the show to know the sullen parasites are vagrant once their meal is complete.
These words I hear, I once saw drawn in the sand at the dawn of manhood, singing a warning song of rough seas ahead, and the breeze that will spread the once-dead disease to friends, believers in me and fruits born of my seeds, exposing the myths of wistful words whispered in fear with no one to hear.