buried alive; (in) sane; or harakiri?
a trifecta of horror
cuts through the lush foliage while i
writhe in a nest of
eldritch entrails
anxiety
rises up like an ophidian
coils shedding every quarter of a noon
ready to strike –
i lose movement
and falter through the streets
the meeting rooms,
and the endless conversations that end in stalemates;
my anxiety
an ouroboros of volcanic self-effacement
spills into posh mental facilities (lies)
and shoddy hospitals that turn the sick into the living dead
humiliation
burns bright red (magenta)
and brands my delicate skin with age-old glyphs
they mark the end of a civilization
the birth of a metropolis
with twin suns and dark monoliths
where the mob guillotines the visionaries
and the artist dies a dog’s death.
