Nightmare's Autopsy (The Will to Overcome)

Unawareness.  Sad, sad scourge,

Where despite the cleavers gleam

Enroll again! On we surge

Upon the cold, cold table we

Will once more lay prone for

His convenient dream

Watch we shall, March we will

From the silos to the unmarked graves

To cut across reaping fields, ever forward on we stave. 

Vivisection does not breed good intention,

Do not believe anything they say, it’s never about

The process, it’s always about the pain

Inflicted, where the loudest are the strong, and the screams expire before the walls wail their weeping songs, while the sick, while the poor, shed not one tear more

Bone to bone. Disassembled on

Slats of marble, practiced upon

For those not cared for

Are but generic and alone

stainless tin, cold, cold steel

each discarded, parts and whole

Sad it is, for these, not a tear is felt

Separated by the lash of an imposter God

Fearing a day without, where future’s freedom’s left in doubt

Leaving but an unheard requiem, a lesson, a sigh, for without the crackling, pain does not yield, ever forward stirs the prod

Reassembled, fractions and sums

As only a self-termed God would dare attempt make whole,

Such reunions of the recent dead

Your image yet fans each flame incited by the memories haunting the dreams of your dearest mourners, where words, spoken in your natural tongue, engrain each minute of slumber, with the writhing procurement loss endows

Every piece within is found without.

All lined up across this wall

Organized precisely yet scattered haphazardly about

And here treads a man, in the shallowest depths of water, pacing in wander, sloshing over each direction ever scoured

Ever mired is the misery concomitant to each shard remembered, never knowing what tortures persist to lurk

Yet, it is he, who we cannot dare guess upon; it is he, who never sickens thinner than frame allows, for repetition’s mysteries here assembled sour not the troubles therein

Jars of me, at rest, alone

In this sealed solution,

flesh plucked clean, off its bone

a floating cage with lockless ends

Forever swimming—

Never truly dead, yet life barely seep these veins,

Floating simply about, within this pool, an aquarium

Where waves are as absent, as those prehistoric beasts science willfully omits from the present-day vernacular

Pickled in formaldehyde; Awash, then dried,

By permutations cloth, preserved forever, yet

Never, in such company, could the soul hope to thrive within

Errors form the function, upon this weavers loom,

Tainted by misfortune, needles sew wryly their quilted interpretations, echoic of our most hollowed depths of doom

Expertise is ignored, when it’s failure that’s exposed,

Leaving only the thrush of pride, forever hidden—shall we try, to find pathos, through wisdom’s ever dwindling light?

Parceled streams create purported visions—albeit in lieu of the self-sustaining sufficiency such stained seams require—

Where thusly soon thereafter, we are quick to notice that the breadcrumbs have all grown stale and indigestible

Here, the body secretes away its last remaining vertebrae, crafted, is a sense of clarity, never known or seen before—proffering each sentiment stored away, with the dank chill preeminently found whilst creeping seditiously amongst those reservations not your own—for it is within these chambers, where the stagnant air of darkness, adroitly replicates mankind’s first regret—

Yet strangely enough, for now, a change is found—an unrequited epiphany appears—here, falling forward—we see through the murky horizons and past the greyest clouds, envisioning that fleck of precognition crucial to surviving this nightmare realm our beings have been unwittingly cast unto—

It was in each these bands of sparks, whose arcs bestowed more than superficiality, but legitimate directions to salvation—here, it was found that one can be lonely, without succumbing to loneliness, where one can be alone, yet sated still—for it was then, when needed the most, that I became aware, aware, fully, completely aware, where the torture that shall surely follow, will be nothing to the comfort I now feel.