The Obscure

touching
groping
the Cosmic Self, coping
steps back from his tumultous whirlpool;
caught up in maniacal laughter,
observes his macabre and terrifying visage--
reflected on the surface of the pool
in which he stands.

Burn it, you spawn of pigs,
burn it to char.
The Immortal You, scoffing
laughing.
the Cosmic Self,
dying
the two sides of humanity
the You and the Self
one day shall meet
in the forest of the shielded, startling, stares
destroy the one whom they both seek
and perish in each others' arms.

the Cosmic Self
the child, ever walking
straps himself into a rickety wooden chair
cuts his lips from his contorted face
and kisses them goodnight
with blood, and skin
and yellowed, dripping teeth

the Immortal You
the aloof critic, ever watching
stares through his sardonic window
and picks a rose for our trouble
sets it to flame;
hugs his knees and says, over and over
"It's not here now, it is away, far far away."

and the ticking clock, ever grinning
asks me in a sarcastic voice
if I ever really knew time
and I reply, in a quiet, hushed, and reverent tone
that I knew a girl who killed her child, still in the womb
a girl who crushed my childhood
he told me about my past,
about the things I never had
I told him about my future
about the things that I will never have.

the grinning clock knows the past
but I, my hands can point to only one number at a time
and my asymmetrical face is a poor timepiece
for the giant, who does own me
and no longer do I lay my golden eggs.

There is a place I can run to
when the world is too much
for my fragile mind to bear

Ask me If, and I'll tell you
that the world is too much
still, I'd rather be anywhere but there.