(The Escapism)~93

The last howl
Has left my bones
No hunger
No thirst
No vision of morrow
The rapture isn’t coming
This is here and now
No ShangriLa
No Nirvana
No Heaven
No Hell
Maybe the
Lawlessness
Of purgatory
An eternity of time
To reflect
And be
Without decay
Just see
All of the wretchedness
That there has always been
That you wear
As both understanding
And warmth
You get it….
It’s never been about Karma
Or Dogma, or Rites
Mass graves dug
And buried with the foolish
That allowed themselves
To have hope
Belief
Some thought that they
Would be delivered
Away from it all
Free
Who took the path
Of Sylvia Plath
Who was next on
Anne Nexton’s way
I felt the Howl
Of Virginia Woolf
There was no comfort
For Nicholas Chamfort
Why do I hear
Their chorus of cries
Reverberating within my skull
No amount of Tylenol
No Klonopin or Morphine
Is going to be the great release
Escape from this mental pain
Like a frikkin’ cromagnan man
I left messages on the walls
Hand prints in blood
That spell out my name
I never flew like the cuckoo
Never had a nest
Never got rest
Liquid time stops for no one
Only the lucky
Get to watch it change colors
As the brook becomes the sea

(matthew bowers) ~93
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