a person in five phrases

i.

held in the vise of despair without visions of hope

nails sharpen into swords and the stomach sours

becoming a volcano of spite.  yet i walk about normally

with the abnormality of insanity crying for deed dolls

washing their dirty faces to see mine in a clearer light.

but can Pepto-Bismo coat the sorrows

that already make me blush, the flush wholeness

into the life i bear, to muster whatever laughter i can bundle

like a hyena after a kill?

ii.

i reach through the fog that sits at the center of my mind

and touch whatever of limbs limp toward the earth

stretching to touch a caring one somewhere in the universe

a prisoner shackled and manacled upon the torture floor

waiting for the CIA to enter and smash the dead soul of me

into some meaningful life so that questions arise.

they see not blood not hear streams of screams.

they bruise not humans with a name

but immune, beat those with answers that kill

some self more barbaric than they

they say.

iii.

the one-color world bothers me.

i look into the eyes of grey and see darkness.

all about are smiling faces with glued expressions

and i am frightened by the sincerity they bring. 

the tenor of their conversations is noise

unhealthy at the end of all.

iv.

a humming in the atmosphere reminds me of a butterfly.

somewhere between a need for freedom and healing

the spir'tual and the mental fall apart.

it needs to return to the flow of life

unable to maintain position o'er the mythical sea.

attacked like children chasing a fleeing ball

it's a slab of flesh destined for abuse

to be chewed upon, then vomited into a trough.

it's how i feel, atrophied: gnawed and discarded.

what is this death in me?  regurgitation?

an attempt to reclaim a life

before the surgeon arrives to apply the knife?

v.

i'd like to film the world with water and light

with clapping and exuberant laughs

but my limbs fall limp and my spirit faints

feeling lost among the lonely

fumbling in search of meaningful land.