On Audio Here
my head
hurts
like wounds caused
by gunshots
a bullet forced
by physics
through a barrel
thin
as the membranes
that separate
my temporal lobes
as they bulge
outward
waiting to explode
volcanic
thunder
like Mt St Helen
Vesuvius
a most fiery explosion
unrequited
Dear Lord,
my hands are lined
palms
rusted with blood
not my own
but the souls of others
and I have risen them
upward
towards you
in supplication
yet now, I wish to rest
knowing
that the world is on fire
like my brain
slowly, melting
bear my melodies and songs
they are my cries
disguised as madness
as angels in choir
do you hear my voice?
it whispers secrets
of those before me
a most heartsick feeling
and my spirit is reeling
from simply
existing
where I
do
not
belong
and in the middle I stand
on tiptoes
as a child
trying my best
to peek over the ledge
without
falling
and my neck cranes
to the farthest borders
to the great continents
and I have sunk my teeth
much too deep
into the skin of humanity
and I bite
yet am starved
standing at the abyss
needing your hand
and the tip of the wing
of an angel
so I can breathe
again.
© Susan Marie
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