11 O'Clock

my heart fractures at the haunting sound of a nearing carnyx
and sends my blood to flow into the river Styx
as the clank of tarsals drag across the air
while my own lay silent and bare.
my stillness isnt relieving, my body resists;
eyes twitch, legs shake, hairs prickle, spine insists
I scream OUT yet I don’t think I opened my mouth -
my bones rattled the message for me

I feel your wretched watch through the wall,
You so tall and I so small,
sitting like your obedient thrall
nothing more than your fucking little play doll -
my body would rocket up if you didnt lock it,
and despite your lipless mouth and eyeless sockets
I can read the desire draped on your face
and sense your ghastly hands encroach at a slow pace.

ah, behold, your boastful banner
and fingers arranged in a sanctimonious manner
to guide me through a silent sermon
and swat away all the dissenting vermin.
please, please, explain to me your necessity,
your total inevitability,
how you are merely only time’s workhorse,
a misunderstood personification of a fundamental force.
of course, you are pious and humble
in spite of the world you crumble,
with a heart that is pure,
stagnation’s only unbiased cure,
imparting motion to the spirit,
oh!, if only we could hear it!

but I see beneath your black cloak,
as its dark void cannot hide the spilled blood in which you soak;
and peaking into your colonnade of jutting ribs
I see no heart, only fibs,
and a pedestal of stacked vertebrae
that bare weight to your perceived status as Kyrie.
despite your thorough scheming,
I know you did not give meaning
to the ticking echoing from the clock’s breath,
Oh Exalted Death.
your eternity only looks so good compared to my mortality
because you made my beating moments fleeting;
you steal our chance to raise to salvation
and replace it with total erasure to damnation.

listen to me perusing your bones intricacy
like an oracle desperate for a prophecy,
treating your spine itself
like book-spines up on a shelf.
You and I already know the truth,
there’s no need for me to sleuth,
my brain will ooze out my nose with your abroach
and there’s nothing I can do to slow your approach.
So, play upon these rotten organs
this requiem’s last noted sins,
lay upon me your gilded fist,
I never did mean to exist.

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