you passed the gaunt lampshade around
as you appeared to be, but
you never were a mime. pull mocking-
birds out of your throat and get
your own identity from a slot
in the ground.
your hair was caught in an electric
chair, radiant like lightning
struck a cemetery. you were
borderline anyways, but the
dead had a stronger backbone
than you ever did, walking
all over your living grave;
this was delirium and you
raised this hell like a mortician
always wanted to do.
a cannibal sat upright on a
tombstick and you worshipped
him because you couldn't
kill the beast - knocking over
death in your mind, but you
are very much alive (although
the quicksand liquidated you
like a leper - you could not
hold on to desolation
anymore).
you chewed out clairvoyance
to forget misery - voices crawled
in your ears like telepathy
and you listened
and you listened;
their existence reminded you how
you ate brainwaves over again -
wasting your mind like mary-jane did.
and you never thought twice.
