The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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Post-traumatic regression
in a hip hypnotist's session
hoping to uncover
memories of each other

Sand-blown hardpan
desolate and dead again
Windswept by this weather
it whispers to me of never

And the disconnected computer beeps
A final output the mechanism weeps
The gears the ground till rusted by tears
Seized their turning at the end of years

the dust crowds round nascent eyes
that what never opens never dies
A quiet resignation, it's never much
A trade for the Eternal never to touch

The simple truth is made
to never rust or shrink or fade
The simplest of lies
when swallowed, metabolize

No pill could encapsulate
filled with the will to sedate
No coating that dissolves
Could medicate my resolve

You could not abate my hate no matter how much you medicate me. You predicate supremacy on the vehemency of your supposed clemency. You're afraid of me, amazed at me, and cannot see the simplicity that implicitly lets me be. Lets me be me lets me be free let's you be you and us be two, not one. It's more fun and seperately we can see farther facing opposite than so tightly knit the wool over our eyes scratches till we cry. Eyes red, I bury my head because my tears have already said everything I ever could or would but you won't see cause you can't read me, but that's how it's supposed to be, unity independently; a cooperative venture without being indentured, I ventured to say one day but to no avail. My words failed, and I was left to heft the burden of being a loner in a loud crowd of dowdy conformist, deformed by the ill will of those too scared to care. I start to give a horrified stare, but instead close my eyes and open to share.

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