Buried Alive
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I’m dying slowly
Walking through the great
Halls of my mind
Staring up at portraits of memory
Flanking on both sides
With my All Seeing third eye
Dying slowly – conditions ripe with life
Seeping out of me gradually
A little bit each day with thoughts
Until, at last, there will be
Nothing left of me, but
A shell of flesh, grey corpse
Cold & colorless, soul scorched
Gazing at the portraits of
My 7 heavens in hell
Every facet branded & learned
As a monk’s catechism in his cell
Too...painful get through the
Empty days trying to forget...
Fighting back the memories
The only way I can
With Ceaseless, my pen, in hand
360 proof ink is raw alcohol
Pour me a drink from the
Nearest full bottle on the brink
Down it quickly, sweet cordial
Wincing as hot & syrupy expressions
Slide from my mind to be splayed upon this page
Trying not to taste it … Ceaseless
Ink alcohol my elixir now, my solace
The flavor is irrelevant…I aim to forget
If only I could figure out
How to pour it straight into my bloodstream
I would, no doubt
Save myself the pain,
Inducing instant eternal blackout…