Crisis Centre

Life is a  Catatonic, anxiolytic, Carbon filtered cocktail. Mad dash curtains, cum stains, Cocaine names. Bad dream.Wine spilled out blood redAcross the patchy and burnt tapestry Of the etherized, anaesthetized, lives I see  Disintegrating under scrutiny, unfeeling gaze of terminal TV. I have begun To become the dead man, boiling in ego, fearlessly terrified. Piece too jagged and skinny to fit discordant societal puzzles. Brain pulverized to fine powder in a mortar and pestle, Mortal worries flushed down porcelain cisterns along with hard and bloody shit.  Feeling Deep gut pleasure and euphoric hatred, Diving head first down a slippery opiate slope Rock bottom rushing up to meet me, When I thought I was in a bottomless pit. Awake. Why call it life if everybody dies? Sings my best friend the Ghost with the pinned out eyes.His infant’s razor slits reality’s seams, As he’s raped in an alley by the American dream.

-Jack Blare


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