A Poem by insertwittynamehere

by Chief Bromden


And you wonder, how it ever got to this?

How in the midst of the cackling limbs, the readjustment of bones, the revolutions of gears and cogs, and the sheer expunction of existence that you are still conscious?

            “Hey, check this one out. It’s still alive.”

            Oh no.

            “Cuckoo 342, report to Combine 2 for failure to comply.”

            QUICK, GET OUT!

            “A quick fix wouldn’t do this one, would it?’


            “No, a removal would do.”

            AIR RAID

But what use is it? Death alone comes in a variety.

Why wouldn’t torture? Why wouldn’t time?

            Perhaps, if you shrink away from the tools, the damage will decrease.

            I mean, how can it hurt you if it can’t reach you?                  

Oh, but it will.

It will creep upon the abyss of oddity in your brain; it will crawl across the lobes of your backbone; it will fill the creases and cracks with parasites.

They will tear away and chew and chew and chew.

And god damn it, they will tear away your last bit of insanity.

They will strip you of your own spirit.

You become a feather at the will of the wind �" bending and twisting at every whiff of air.       

And those scathing stares? Those stares come with intent. They come with a vitality so great that it will shackle your every thought, even if it runs leagues per millisecond.  

Those pitchforks will be seen ablaze in your pupils.

Your eyes start twitching. Your mouth dries up. Your own lips muffle your screams. Your nails scratch at the incendiaries. Warm blood form roots all over your plain white shirt and the red branches stretch out to take shape.

And you can’t see.

Yet you can still see.

THAT’S where the damage starts.

The broom awaits.

            Scoop up the waste and the remaining parts. Don’t waste time. Sweep.

You console yourself

            Sweep. DON’T look at the blood.

You remind yourself

Hear no evil, speak no evil, and see no evil.

Oh, but it’s too late for your poor eyes.

You understand now. Protect what you have.




Your ears must become your sanctuary. Your mouth your betrayal.

But, by the holy God, treasure each DAMN ONE.

It is not by free will that you may use either. It is only by matter of force and destruction.

This is war.


            War against whom?

Against all that has been set.  Against all that has been predetermined. Against ALL that SEES but does not even ATTEMPT to see.

Anything puts you in danger, run. Anything reaches out for your hand, run.


Close your eyes. Go to your sanctuary.

Let the words welcome you. Let it smother you ‘til your hands no longer fit your face.  Let it compress you ‘til you can no longer bend.

You tell yourself

            It is the only way I’ll be safe.

But nature would not allow that. You would not allow that.

There MUST be a disturbance. And when that disturbance comes


The sliding will come to a stop. The air will become tighter


The mist will clear the fire. Cards will fly


Stutters and sputters evolve into sound. Sound travels along the lumps of wings


Wings will be tied amongst unrest. Unrest becomes thoughts. Thoughts become uncertainties. Uncertainties become thoughts again. Thoughts become words


Words incite action. Action incites anger. Anger incites unrest. Anger strangles authority. Unrest throws authority. Uncertainties attempt to catch but retreat hesitantly, palms up. Unrest, anger, thoughts, words, uncertainties, and action flip authority  


Authority spins as if it is a coin flipped into the air. Except, the coin doesn’t fall. Gravity doesn’t permit it to do so. Time becomes a weapon of choice. The smell of liquor recedes the strength of the crossed hands over the face and opens the eyes. The touch of skin tears and jerks at the layers of distrust and cries of refusal .That taste of freedom becomes an antiquity so rare that it is only given to the few willing to give it away

When it comes to it, the laws of nature work with, not against. Authority twists and turns. It refuses the push, but it cannot be pulled down. It stays. In mid-air


When it matters, nothing matters, when it comes to it, no law works with, when needed the most, time works against

Gravity returns, the coin hits the ground with full force, the Earth quivers at the energy, the vibration of surrender travels to the streets of the rejected

Linearity gains. Power is apprehended. Sunlight is barred. Limbs are strapped. The knife seizes the hand


Disturbance and the crown of thorns go hand in hand into the fire. Frankenstein becomes a reality only the mind can imagine. The cave is opened to nothing but exemplar. Compassion strangles exemplar. Passion grasps the fists. Fists break the glass. Glass and feet touch the once forbidden earth. Earth pulls the feet as feet push the Earth. Wings are untied as the wind pulls and bites at the knots. Walking becomes running. Running becomes flying. Flying becomes soaring. Soaring overhead, you see what was. You see.

And you wonder, how you ever got to this?


© 2013 insertwittynamehere

Author's Note

Is the tone obvious or is there more I can do to bring out the tone more?

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Added on May 15, 2013
Last Updated on May 15, 2013
Tags: Cuckoo's Nest, Ignorance, Will, Fight, Chief Bromden, Freedom, Oppression