The Mural

A Poem by Christoph Poe

(Some cursing.)

I'm drawing on the Bedroom Wall
A mural of the Goddess.
Wine bottles break
And the f*****g world collapses.
She is cursed and
She whispers it,
A phrase so vague and stretched.
I get colder every time I see her,
And the drums beat 13 beats a second,
Skewed to the point where
Reality meets a cold point
Of unfamiliarity,
And the unfamiliar becomes reality.
She's a Goddess, and
Time is no longer linear,
Emotions don't fold,
The sky is no longer blue,
Red is brighter,
And the material world is untouchable.

Someone take this paintbrush from my hand.