Savage WorldMature

Experimental piece of modern free verse, dealing with the savage subject at hand.

Losing sleep in the blind particular

Faith of open eyes-

It’s a savage world out there, they say-

Where old choirbelles seek


A resolution amongst new admissions,

Telling of their fame- no fame to stay.

We move entranced by the macabre,

To chance and delay in the violent


Red and yellow of a pill’s

Deep incitement.

The TV is on downstairs,

And no one will hear the panicking 


Of your own head, or the throbbing,

Curling of a vain ring of blood,

A hacked bracelet for both wrists.

It’s super modern, this ring of blood.


Take a virgin piece of lining

To try out the overexaggeration

Of our discoagulation. 

A dirty smear along the bending


Edges, they are feeble- one more

Press and you are gone into the deep.

Caress it before you lose touch,

In the mess of broken skeleton keys


That perforate this ball of lies

Morose. The bed is your reflection,

Reflection dark and murky is

The inconsistent consideration


Of silly sentiment versus

The ability to be dormant when

On the cusp of discussion’s lie.

You’d rather take the sweeter lie,


For seventeen marks no reminder;

Could you tell a washbasin from a sink?

A hallucinogenic, no more.

Crux of hand, curl of hair,


All so similar when madness

Doesn’t need such a mention-

No more than it feeds a victim

To deny it; an innocent to retain it.


A recollection or a simple perforation

From this performance,

Through the other of skull of the mind,

A place no angel can ever escape to.

The End

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