Gangrene

Gangrene

Gangrene. A fly.

Colored string because too many colors intertwine,
Television for injections too bright to see;
Too consistent in the same damn thing.

Doesn’t need to sing while walking,
Just keeps on keeping on without a care.
A bit different this time around, seeping out
Is his mind; so lonely.

I hope it makes sense when I say that you are my muse,
And I have loved you as nothing has and ever will.
I keep you close in darkness and endeavor deep inside
To find you in myself, but I fail.

It doesn’t need to be said to differentiate between up or down,
Nor sideways or backwards; it’s the same.
Because this is the moment we are in now, this free-verse world of corruption.
Our world of politics and secret lust, and you’ve spoon fed me, darling.

Prevailing over nightfall in the right mind; a fly.
The king crab of the facility, the boss and the master.
You guide me but I don’t listen; I hate the attitude you give me.
I hate your negativity and the breath from you I smell.
But I want it.

I’m no better, I know.
I’ve heard it once before.
I don’t need to rummage through the garbage to find a newspaper
With your tattered image thrown on the front page
To know that I can’t stand the words you bear.

You hiss at the word “genocide”, you gangrene fly.
Your wings are falling off and I can’t see your many eyes.
You’re mine and I have you; you’re my boss,
But I hate you. I will not tolerate you.