Death, Mad and Blind
Dot-matrix monotony beasts,
Bring endless agonies and fake archetypes,
To drown the silent scream of nothing inside.
I know now why you turn up the noise.
Hide your ears, as they pound on the drum of sadism.
Because I howl the song of terror.
And now we both become batteries.
You the positive, I the negative,
Existing purely to give power to the other.
Their box of lights bleeds our minds.
With a thousand meaningless babbles,
Like over-zealous wasps.
Senselessly knotting round and around.
Constricting mind, body and soul.
Under this monochrome sky,
In this thick, wet, air,
They are almost tangible.
Tasted, smelt, but never heard
Cartoon wraiths flitting at the periphery.
Not waiting, not feeling.
Blind mechanical bats.
Without voice or form.
They feed my failings,
Fattening me for the feast.
But they hold no malice,
Just a circuit with terror as its current.
They no more hate my soul,
Than the fox hates the rabbit.
Fearing these surrogate pulses,
I pull a blackened hide over my shoulders,
And with snakes for eyes, I pull on chainmail gloves.
The metal cuts my skin, the rotting hide constricts
My last breath bears a spirit,
Which eats the sky like a rusty knife.