The Razor and the Wrist

Posted: March 19, 2015 in Poetry

Things wake up in the brain,

Stirring old, long settled dust,

A quick, blinding flash of pain,

As the monster shakes off its rust…

It beings to devour everything in sight,

Just like it’s always done,

Familiarity made warm in a splash of blood,

‘Hey,’ it whispers, ‘wanna have some fun?’

No, no I don’t, and I’m not playing again,

You can set up all the streamers and poles,

But I won’t be circling them once again,

No matter what you think you might know…

‘I’m too old to play this game,’

Says the razor to the wrist,

‘I lost long ago when you found out my name,

When I got fucked without getting kissed…’

The rabbit in the gristle cage,

Doesn’t know what day it is,

Or even its own manufactured age,

It only knows the endless race…

The bottle will shake before it falls from the hand,

As the clockwork joints release their vaporous scream,

Don’t try to pretend you weren’t warned,

Emptied out eyes aren’t always what they seem…


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