The Sound of BurningA Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe) I feel really unwell these days, but I figure I should write so I don't lose my edge too much at least.
My shadow told me the white chalk was his downfall When the hell’s shade shined on our skin The hieroglyphic monolith marks of prolific obsidian martyrs argonauts The revenant of their screams’ pitter-patter like the rein of terror clouding heaven As I storm through the madness of my mental defences A maelstrom of osteoporosis coursing through the poltergeist of disciples of prison bars Star-crossed phosphorus the cartilage devil to bargain with
My voice told me the slipknot softened the blows of psychosis, but humanity was his downfall When people spoke for our empty mouths with their clumsy tongues thumping enunciated The virus of their names spread like a cancer dancing across crucified The blackboard scratching the vinyl of their asylum As I transform my metamorphosis, the flutter of fallen leaves spiralling defiled Bastion of asterisks, the silence annihilates the word of God A word that was never spoken by man, to begin with
My body told me, embroidered into a cage, that if I were to fly When the wings were only mangled fingers ripped from a time when I was whole The levitating homeostasis chopped and butchered insidious The world wanders on a plane of oblivion As the music plays there is nothing but a chill in every beat drumming consumption I haven’t got the strength to put up a fight, but I'm taking you down The vanquished hippocampus, its relinquished photosynthesis is a red sun emblem
My suffering told me to kill, so I strangled my pain until it faded away and left me alone in this world When each shattered tooth is just a new reason to smile, a souvenir from a failed beat down The memento of sentience reminds me of what it was like to be sane The profanity of a hatred that everyone shared like a family I was never a part of As I straddle on the tightrope between life and death’s throat, caught in the stomach of the Beast Am I really just some monster practicing pacifism? A target of some wildhunting homunculus? I was human too, before they killed me
My soul told me to cut the heart from my hollow frame and offer it as a love letter When respiratory metamorphosis set in I became a scarecrow Wickerman going up in flames The melody is rhythmic Olympus at the peak of a climbing leviathan, a stairway to sound The sound of burning hurricanes as the polymerization of my body solidified silence My shadow told me the light would go dark in the dusk of this rusted junkyard of broken bones My voice taught me the meaninglessness of words is as loud as a scream Sometimes I am more than a shadow
More than a voice I am the sound of the burning remains of this world standing on ashen legs I am the whispering lips of flames licking the incubus of sky with the very being, the creature of past men I am more than a body burning to charred, reincarnated the cremated salvation of aether hatred My suffering is every dead man vengeful for a dying race called man, unremembered I am the embodiment of clockwork chaos oxidized philosophers of the apocalypse inaugurated My hands are the cobwebs of megalomaniac aphrodisiac, the leader of the pack is a lone wolf
But I’m not a beast I am the last goodbye of a dead friend that never left you in a flurry of dark corridors alone I am the final note in an overture that reverberates in the Holocaust of verses I am the messenger of death’s Rorschach atrocity’s apocryphal undocumented indoctrination I am the tomorrow that will never come And the yesteryear of massacres among daffodils wilderness abyssal omniscience ambitious I am the setting sun, leaving you in the darkness, cold, alone, forgotten
The husk of the chrysalis of those who were never wrong, righteous, left by the butterfly I leave you without a heart, without a friend, without the medication to heal As your painted masquerade peels, and the façade is no longer real The wounds may seal, but you and I will never feel The braille rain decaying on our skin I remember when the sun kept our coldblooded bodies warm in the desert of our sins Trying to rebuild the world when all we did was rip the pages of history from the spine, serpentine
The dry leaves crackling like a fire The air musty with the smell of aging life withering away Quick to light like a match The noise of this sanctuary obscene as singing to the sound of silence Where the remains of the summer rasp out their final breaths The lungs coughing up corpses under the Autumn breeze I feel cold inside even though I'm burning Even though the light of my flaming fingers singed by syllables Scalded by memories, went out years ago Paper-thin pandemonium, fanning the flames, the fire, the sound of burning existence disappearing into the Neatherealm Who needs fire, when we have the brightest lights of the city dowsed in orange leaves? Who needs the ashes of men like me, if our bodies don't bleed for deities fading from daydreams, unravelling by a grim reaper's seamstress, hanging by a thread, possessed by a promise, given not wanted, stitched back together again through Autumn, the weather of © 2019 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Author's Note
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R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)Burlington, Halton, CanadaAboutMost of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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