It rebounds inside my skull.
I am so tired with this weary tragedy.
Just let me go.
Never is there silence.
It throbs. No mercy.
There is up, so up.
Then I fall down, far low down.
There is no effort in the climbing.
But the air is thin, fades
to nothing to gasp.
No warning sleep.
It grasps me in clutches.
The light, it fades.
I curl to reek of sweat.
I make no motion.
I will not hear my cry.
I want nothing.
And nothing wants me near.
The pull takes me to the pit.
I am watched, touched
with a lonesome guilt.
There is no company in waiting
for what I can not tell.
Rip into the shadows
to confusing dreams. They are not real.
Bind this message
with the burden of stone.
I fly again, and again it happens.
It will write in my blood
when I escape these prison walls.
What can I say to people
who are not me?
I paint the moon and burn in hells.
I lay in coils poised
to strike myself.
I have no reflection with meaning.
I recoil.
This is useless. A shrinking circle.
But I hold to a branch.
Make war with the current.
I beat dents into my shield. It shatters.
I hammer another.
A fury engages me with the utter stupidity of my failure.
I gorge a raw meat.
The taste is acid. And rank.
I fold to see my belly.
I smell the stench, like a coward. No.
There is yet no defeat.
I plunge across a black and white rainbow.
I will not step without some light
in my scorched matrix.
There is no sum total to what I am.
I expand.
With this swelling comes the price
of my existence.
It is all together and up and down I go.
The stirring has no end.
My fingers touch my palm to make a fist.
A single finger rises.
� 2000 David P. McClellan Background � 1998, 1999 Amber Justice
