Theater 34

Technology offers to fulfill new dreams for those seeking escape, but also new nightmares.

gasping I sat, a great breath in
only tears to mark with what chagrin
I ceded this defeat of my flesh, my skin
muscles burning with ache despite cold wind.

I dared not forget the horror,
my flight left dread scenes behind by ten score or more giant's paces
yet still it choked my breath's corridor to recall those faces,
still tore and gored my psyche, but who's sure foot falls beside me?

His face so strikingly familiar a sight to see
hair parted the same side I knew mine to be
stride slowing from sprint to walk
his eyes filled with too much pity
I could hardly talk

His gaze was quick flitting over my features
tears of sudden not fitting, I wiped
explaining that sorrow oft gripped me like seizures
wringing not flecks of foam but saline upon the loam
beneath us.

With a charming smile did he start
disarming those frightful thoughts
and so too did he wipe away memory
of what dismay had gripped me originally.

Standing I clasped his hand in mine
shook wryly noted I'd lost track of time
and ought to go,
his curiosity could not abide,asking if I thought
to catch a cyber show.

Revulsion unbidden brought bile up my throat
indignant I explained, bile at bay
I had seen on the news this very day
a terror video recorded to gloat
that these false realities he called shows
had oft been wrecked, ruined, used to strike a blow
at we the fortunate few who could afford
such leisure.

With a hand he dismissed my fear, saying that of every attack I hear
only the worst,
That although these attacks of late had indeed been severe,
none rode the hearse.
Instead, he claimed with certainty, they sat in hospitals by government decree
cared and fed and cleaned and kept
families allowed to come yet they were bereft
their mental faculties, never laughed nor wept
simply sat and stared and thought
eyeless because when from that show they woke
they blinded themselves first, and then they spoke
claiming to be in that machine still
you see, it had shattered their will
entrapped them even once freed from their binds.

I said their entertainment was poorly bought
if they traded their minds.

He simply remarked that these poor souls embarked into an infinite unreality
almost what they had paid to see yet tainted by the hand of cruelty
belonging to zealot, classist, Marxist or capitalist
whoever had done it, he was sure of this
not twice could such anarchists hack the show
 and remove the chosen track
replacing it instead with the sights and sounds
which held only horror to expound

So warily I agreed to come with him if he'd pay the fee
and so we made a pleasant walk, found small things of which to talk
until we arrived at the cyber shows and he paid the
automated teller, who though incapable of glee
seemed to express that as he took the money
and let us choose our fantasy.

At the end of that he directed us back through halls
where thick carpet muffled foot falls
to a door labeled neatly "Theater 34."

Queasily I regarded the apparatus' seats
shackles with which to hold the feet
caused a skip in my heart's beat
needles to insert into the eye
better to create the chosen lie

My examination stopped as he took his chair,
fastened himself in without aplomb or flair
said simply we'll see each other within, he hoped
then needles sank in as his hands idly groped
the armrests.

Long did I stand before I decided to sit
and slowly secure myself inside of it
resigned that if I hated the dream created
he ensured a need for company would be sated.

Needles sank in. My heart beat slow.
Helmet slid down. Blood ran cold.
And so, images began to flow.

Where was I, this was not the dream chosen for my show,
upon the bench I had sat not long ago
sat a man with tears staining  cheeks and sweat his brow
 gasping breath, thinking hard with back bowed
then I paled and my demeanor cowed,
for this man seemed liable to die of fright,
but perhaps if I approached him right
I could ease a bit of that pain
that of itself was enough a gain
to encourage me to stamp a foot and feign a walk
and up at me he looked, too stunned to talk

What a familiar-

Oh god no.

What better and efficient way to make your attack,
using a device which injects into perception
any dream they kept for selection,
and keep your victims forever comatose
than replacing it with a nightmare which unfolds
in such a way that each time it's told
that it traps them with only a single track.

You just loop start to end, front to back.

Screaming I clawed at my eyes to remove my mask
and doing so awoke and grasped
and unfastened my fetters, removing needles slowly knowing better
than to give into my panic and rip and tear
and doing so bring more pain to bear
upon myself than mere mental anguish.

I looked to try and save him yet in the seat he had so recently sat
there was only a cadaver, rotted nearly black
with a wordless scream worn like a disguise
and black dried blood caking shut his eyes
and all around him, in each row and chair
sat the dead, the rotting, each face bare
each cheek stained with rivulets
of black red.

I stood, stumbling out the doors
as I tried my best to remember how many scores
of people had fallen to that attack in the news
just enough I think to fill the seats and pews
of my theater, theater thirty-four.

Out past the rusted teller I ran and soon I found
I could run no longer, heavy in my chest did pound
a weak heart, not used to such excitement
and when I saw the bench I only meant
to rest for a while and so
gasping I sat, a great breath in
only tears to mark with what chagrin
I ceded this defeat of my flesh, my skin
muscles burning with ache despite cold wind.

I dared not forget the horror,
my flight left dread scenes behind by ten score or more giant's paces
yet still it choked my breath's corridor to recall those faces,
still tore and gored my pysche, but who's sure foot falls beside me?

His face so strikingly familiar a sight to see
hair parted the same side I knew mine to be
stride must have been slowing from sprint to walk
his eyes filled with too much pity
I could hardly talk

His gaze was quick flitting over my features
tears of sudden not fitting, I wiped
explaining that sorrow oft gripped me like seizures
wringing not flecks of foam but saline upon the loam
beneath us.

With a charming smile did he start
disarming those frightful thoughts
and so too did he wipe away memory
of what dismay had gripped me originally.

Author's Note

I know there is little to no style to speak of, nor any real rhyme scheme or meter. I'd hope this creates a sense of disjunction and unease, but if it is too distracting please tell me.