4am

Reach for the pen. Sign-up for sensory surgery. My sex in one hand, a scalpel in the other. My blood is bought, my chest just an illusion. I grope in the void, in the shadow of sanity. Memories of how love was. In this place, The kingdom of fear. Wallow in the pain, Immerse yourself in the thick black tar of the soul. The day is an act of reconstruction The night a forgotten dream, Of sweet scented destruction. I hold on to my humanity, with sweaty palms. Keep the shape in my mind, holding on to the form. Melt and be molten. Sutures and be swollen Sever and die No mind no man Gravity is the only reality

© Pantelis Roussakis 1999

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