So far that you’re lost in the endless realm of
vague and obscure thoughts
manifesting themselves into harmless but
terrifying shapes that each inevitably slink
closer and closer to us.
So far that you’re lost from sight
and your truths are hidden behind your lies that you
believe. This is not your psychopathic mind, this is
your psychopathic journey and you expect me,
To sympathise with you?
Oh, keep it company with you sir,
For sympathy is restless and uncomfortable here,
It writhes in its own sweat and I must send it
away. For no one here sympathises. Your lies
are yours alone and yours eternally. Quiet –
hiss of fire and gold. Does it in your head –
held high like the sun – hold the delicate truth
that you are, indeed, a lie?
How about lying that you hear something,
A ghostly remembrance,
Of skirt and swish, and turning forever.
Is it all related somehow? And twist
the truth together. An ugly mush of words that fall,
Lower – sink down. Small understatement.
But still. Lower, sink, lower, sink. You think
you rise higher, how dare you swear that where
you wander and slink in the shadows is inside your
own reality. This is your mind – your mind.
Like the beehive we remember
full of ugly thoughts
and ugly faces
Can you sit a little lower,
I think your head – full – takes up the oxygen.
And leaves none for us. Let me see you.
Let me hear you.
Let me see you. Oh
let hear you. And see right past your
bloated ears and into the mirror.
Taking the scissors nearer,
Obscure thoughts manifesting again,
Outside your head again,
In the world again. And where should I cut?
Perhaps if I slit the vein
that holds the flowing hatred and electric,
Maybe your kindness will be revealed?
maybe that died long ago.
We’ll continue your trip
and your psychopathic horror story
so much later that when you sleep
we’ll be beneath you, right there, underneath,
Hissing through. Fabric will keep us down
but never gone. As long as you close those eyes
while I work
and as long as you resign yourself
to the snip of the scissors
the grating churrr of the blades together
we won’t ever
Have I made my threats
I can taste those abominations you call truths,
And I feed off those truths,
And I decimate your truths. Because
I know how they really sound
and how they really are
behind the vague obscure nature of tongue
and cheekbone and toothpull
I know what really lies
behind those lies.
[Just for the record, I’ve not had my hair cut for approximately 5 years]