Rebirth of the Mechanical Amalgomation

A newer poem. I enjoyed writing it, and think it turned out pretty well. I hope you have a blast reading it!

Did you roll over and die in suffering and despair, as I did so many years ago, in fear and pain like a weakling?

For every word your withered lips eviscerate and eclipse through wisped speaking?

Emancipate my determination, coagulate my latent hatred

The fire of Osiris divine justice to dive onwards and inward through tyrants ashes clashing scorched torment in the cinders, cry me a river

The mastermind behind my eyes is out of line, off the track, ready to crash

He hides intwined in mechanical manipulations like a prosthetic mannequin of abandonment, a prostitution of the music he once knew, only a shade of yesterdays, a broken shell a spoken hell, a waterless well of what I was

Hiding from reality, lying in truths gone melancholy, strung from helicopters suffocated weightless in the sun, running from the world, running from you

I am a puppet of this grizzled figure, this worm-riddled corpse, this handwritten note, the sunken boat of vocal cords hoarse, disfigured puppeteer malignant and in tears, the gears masquerade his face, the fear cascades around this place

Where free thought is not sacred, and I don’t act brazen, an animal in the cage, animated faded renovations of reanimation

The metal pieces won’t fit back together

The flesh no longer threads readily through sunsetting serenity, everything is grey, everything is dead, everything is purple

And I thought it would be red

I thought it would be written in grinning crimson scissors splintered spasms that would ravage and eradicate every soul with the hole that holds the hulk of my mind, the bulk of my life

I thought it would be painted in me, I thought it would be drowning in a sea of ink you never thought was me.

This world my page, this pen my rage and the fazing waves that grenade into something lovable, something you gave a s**t about, but you don’t

And I know I am nothing but a man sitting in a seat waiting in waves of disease, wading in belief for death to come to me and say your half the man you used to be, literally

And I will tell him how I lost it all, with whittling winter skinny grizzled fingers, feet maleficent and bitter to have lost love, and lost luck, and lost hope, and lost my own soul and he’ll say

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

And he’ll part my folded shrugging shoulders with his arms and recollect my broken neck with his heart of darkness, and take me places where somebody will find me sacred and the cadence acres of my existence will reckon an exorcist to tell me I never deserved to be haunted

And I will have died alone regardless, hunted like an asura and ripped asunder like a thunder god, and I will sit in the apocalyptic death and decay of my own brain

As the devils trace contagious sarcophagus boxes at the bottom of the hospital I never left alive and they will find my concubine spine and see that I held my chin up my whole life

And they will laugh at me, and cradle my revolting skull and unable fables in the perishing grasp of a rasped fist that I resisted, and have their way with my name, because either way they couldn’t give a damn

If I’m a monolith of my failures, I’ll etch their memories when I’m dissembled and the rebel's tale, his fable, will reach for the sky with his arms like a maple in April, and this Salem will prevail, and this resonance will set sail, in sunset veils, the veins that serenade and menace the heavens, in my ravaged cadaver coagulated in my place, to leave but a trace, defaced and disabled; of their renegade corpses

Forced down to forfeit their warpath in the warped opus of a loaded gun of locusts floating in the mumbling of another undertaker

Blossoming fluorescent writhing Holocaust sarcophagus’s entrance entranced in the romance of the dance of death, lotus photosynthesis Phoenix dream eater omens in the soldier made seamstress blessing the Nephilim with a chance to hang by their necks again, and thread neverland together again

And knit my acceptance, stitch my forgiveness, like the body revivified that refused to dilate his hatred and die

And test the metal shaping my cranium condemnation I was made from

Test your arrogant metal dreadnought against mine if you dare

Because either way, I couldn’t give a damn

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Onlyme]

Wow, vivid, spectacular haunting, raw deep and meaningful tale of darkness, suffering, and despair. Hating, self- loathing oneself beyond the pit of fire flaming hell off damnation. To wear no one can push you beyond your limits disgust and pain and torture. You are your own hellraiser. Catch inside your own trap and vileness. Meeting the ultimate mechanical machine of suffering and destruction
supposedly more powerful than your own demise cause by yourself.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I am the mechanical amalgamation. But thank you. I promise I will try to persevere. I don’t want to give up yet.

[Onlyme]

No please don't give up sweetheart. We all need one another and with your incredible talent of poetry and stories. The world would lose a good one. Hugs. Dawn.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thank you Dawn. That means a lot to me. :)