Scratching Walls - A Dream's Dream... WOP3 RD3
Scratching Walls - A Dream's Dream
Life lived through the thoughts of an eye socket,
The weight of existence slowing the movement forward.
The insignificance of an epic jean pocket,
Tearing at his limbs, halting his glance toward...
Snapped back at an obscure angle of disdain,
Twitching silently, peering edgily across the street.
This isn't life, it's the purest expression of pain,
Thoughts of security, freedom, love, all begin to fleet.
And to the universe's monotonous beat, he addressed this,
Screaming at the bare wires hanging precariously,
"God, if you're there, what did you have for breakfast?"
Rocking back and forth, singing to the silence nervously.
The thought reverberated off the darkened structures,
The torn sun beaten away by the moon's looming light.
Eclipsing the love in distant shrouded ruptures,
Bright darkness extends from the left, all the way to the right.
Screaming at the whitened city bustling by beside him,
Tears erupt calmly gleaming in the sterile cubicle.
Yet he cannot enjoy it, he's left waiting for the lights to dim,
Tapping the smoothened floor, reminiscently rhythmical.
Overgrown fingernails from medical neglect,
Moving closer, his legs shake erratically ripping the walls.
Invisible bacteria moving softly ready to infect,
Clawing his fingers at the smooth white begging to withdraw.
Laughing screams, crying smiles he peers into his bloody reflection,
The blood dilluted pool of emotion seeps blind disgust.
An infection of God given manifestations of human complexion,
Scratching the rust from the firm metal base, he breaks the crust.
Seeing the truth in his existence he tears the walls in fury,
Hitting it in a meek attempt at changing his life.
Scratching with the cut of a knife, judging as his own jury,
The unadulterated strife, death smiles from the darkness, my wife.
Waking in a cold sweat, staring at the ceiling, shivering,
A quivering movement to his left realisation strikes.
"It was all a dream" he whispers, his dream was almost riveting,
His bones creak as he rolls out of bed, yawning sharp pikes.
Groaning at the slow pain developing in his throat he looks left,
The moaning holes in the wall, the blood covered paint.
Sweat beads seep from his growing pores, crying through a swolen clef,
Blood poors, as he screams a stolen song with his own taint.
Crawling with rigid limbs to his bathroom door he feels hope,
Pushing the oak door ajar, leaving a swept red hand print.
The room's empty whiteness blindingly alarming, white as dope.
Running from door to door, seeing the repetition of white,
A light so pure it dazes the human retina's potential.
Falling, engulfed in pure light in the center, maybe a little to the right?
A sprawled body scratching walls of mental misunderstanding's existential.
Living in his mind's mental prison, an asylum for those beyond others,
Having escaped his dream jail and moved into the world.
His worst fears were confirmed as he discovered the truth about his brothers,
The only man alive in an alien experiment, his worst fears unfurled...
But what is fear? Life's end is but a dream to the world in which he lives,
Dreaming within a dream screams echo off a wall into a pool of knives. His soul dies.
http://adrian.ziemkowski.com/livejou...torn_tiles.jpg
