High the tower dungeon rises
Upon the masses of the
Damned and the Despairing,
Their rust brown desert
Stretching around them forever.
Black sun and demented stone grey moon.
A rainbow of red and blue and black and nothing.
I sit outside myself and within it all
The Damned cannot comfort me Nor the Despaired,
As I Furrough my brow at the stone before my blood shot eyes.
Never to meet, never to breathe
Never to unlock the tower door
And step into the "x" dimension
Of peace and love and SHIT.

Green gemstones tumble,
The Role Playing Game of my lonely life,
And the gods look on and laugh
As the Player cries his rage,
While the fictional me is doomed
To woe and to death.
Born to die, but die to live--
Yet there's no trapdoor in my sun--
With frustrations of youthfull angst(?)
Or pain of an adult wisdom...
Dawns looms too far away to reach and to hold.
Printed words and chlorine white
The jet black ink too will soon fade
Swallowed by the jaws of Defeat and her lover
Pain...
 

But never quite telling their big brother Death.

So it goes on despite the end,
From far and away, thoughts fly back
Into this telephone reciever me
Fucked up beyond belief as fingers
Scratch away at scabs of pain and hurt and longing.

So Heaven is gone and Hell is too good
Thus Limbo's where I reside
While The Fates ponder when to
Tie my string back to the web,
If ever.
In death--"they" say the great redemption--
Comes the knowledge of it all,
But I am no wiser than before
With no more insight than yesterday.
Pain remains in this half death, chalked up
With confusion and misplaced hysteria.
(But then, when is hysteria ever REALLY misplaced?)
And stray thoughts of superfluous objects in life
draw me back to the tower beneath which I sit
surrounded by the Damned and Despaired,
Taking scant comfort in "Dante's Sign"
Bearing these words at their base:
"Lasciate Ogne Speranza, Voi Ch'Intrate",
For it is not a doorway to worse,
But rather home.