The Struggle Within

Transparent bricks skate off of my face,
and plummet,
breaking into a superfluity of shards
onto the Rosewood floor.
Walking barefoot too close to me,
could kill you,
torture you,
wrap tightly,
Around your body like thorny austere vines,
With dried blossoms.

I slump in the heart of my beliefs,
nowhere near reality,
clawing away with my naked fingernails at
the omnipotent incubi
tearing pieces of my skin off like children who are
curious of what lies underneath the bark of a tree.

The climax is so close.
I know the morose angel from the bottomless pit
will place a note in my lunch box, today,
praising his best wishes,
his best wishes that I don’t make it.

As I wipe away the sweat from above my brows,
slide my helmet over my head,
and unsheathe my sword from its hilt,
I peer into reality to observe myself.

I am on my knees.
My head affixed to the rosewood floor,
hands rubbing frenetically through my hair,
Face screwed up like a ball of crumpled paper.

And I know
I have someone to fight on behalf of,
I have a bird to free from her cage.

When all of hell brandishes their wicked zweilhanders and malevolent flails,
Their ballistas manned by grinning skeletons with a half a wit of what they are doing, Shooting with recklessness at anything they can,
Hell’s grotesque, powder grey, jagged toothed gargoyles screaming and clawing at the hot melting rock walls they now are part of,
Stalagmites budding from the ground, piercing victims of innocent and evil,
Exposed slaves, with empty eye sockets, heavy mallets of splinters, carried like an extra limb, lifting them high above their heads.
Smashing nearby rocks into crumbles, but the rocks only piece themselves back together seconds later as if they were never hammered.
Innocent prodded in their backs by dark fallen knights, with charred black armor, and halberds the color of coal, into pits of bubbling molten lava,
The world’s most evil men ever to exist sitting at a heavy blood oak table, drinking an oozy grey concoction in human scrimshaw tea cups, coughing violently, but smiling,
as their dictator breaks in through the doors. Demonites spreading their fiery wings, embers falling to the ground with each flutter, beating the men with small clubs. They carry them away to the molten lava, like the innocent.
No one deserves to be safe in hell.
The devil chortling to himself as he takes the tea pot and pours himself a cup of grey ooze, relaxing, legs resting on the table,

I…only blink.
It’s two years ago,
The lights are serene.
The house is still.
The refrigerator hum echoes, like a dentist drilling my teeth.
My room is dry, so I pull up the shades and open my window.
Mother and father are roaring at each other on the porch steps.
Cigarette smoke fills the air, and I cough.
I quickly jump into bed, and pull the covers over my eyes. The fighting continues,
I listen even though I know I shouldn’t.

I don’t like it. I run to my window, open my mouth as wide as I can, and shout,
“Shut up!”
The noise freezes, the night’s traffic halts for a moment.
A car door slams shut.
A blue shitter drives away,
With my mother,

I blink…. Again…

And escape a Mad World.
I pull myself off of the rosewood floor,
dust off my jeans,
wipe the tears from my eyes,
pretend as if nothing ever happened,
Like I do,
Every single day.


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