Lucid Harvest

I'm pacing my minds lucid harvest with a sling blade hand.

I place the crops in my basket case of wicker and thought. I'm falling so fast over the edge of my sanity trying to bring reason behind this imaginary treason. My eyes are slammed shut like shutters in Kansas when the wind picks up. But I can see. There is an ancient rosary held up by a blue tack on a solemn slate wall. I heard a voice say "take it back," the words seemed to slowly crawl,

into me

Like tiny spiders trying to find warmth among cold thoughts and lifeless sport.

I'm sweating.

Such a putrid water that drips from the sons and daughters that hate their mother and fear their father. I'm a bastard lamb strutting to slaughter, head held high and eyes blind

I really thought I had more time.

I digress.

How many demons does it take to fill out a dress? Just one.

See? Progress.

I'm sitting across from the great copulation as it crosses it's legs in perfect placement.

How did I end up in this basement?

Tied to a seat in perfect view of harmony.

I hear the orchestra of death prodding the baton man to go ahead and begin the marching band that leads to eternity.

Why are you hurting me?

I don't know what I should say but I'm going to speak anyway.

His eyes are burning through the windows of my rickety mind, the house in which I keep my pride. I'm just trying to figure out why?

Now he's laughing.

Did I tell a joke or is he gaffing the loose hold I have on knowledge and finding amusement in it? I'll never forget those eyes. Daggers baited with frozen meat, left out for the wolves to eat. And as they licked the view of that sinew, the blood started to ooze. What a trap. Once the blood rolls out you can never get it back.

His hand slams the table in an authoritative jolt. I try to understand but the rebel in my mind wants to revolt.

"Why are you here instead of in bed?" He screamed at me in self righteous agony.

But I'm lying,

driving in a figure eight trying for infinity but I get lost in obscenity. The plane that I am roaming upon has lost a wing and is losing altitude, I'd cry out to God but I don't want to be rude.

I'm falling again.

And I could really use a friend.

Or could someone at least find me a means to an end?

I've been watching my life from the wings of the grand theatre.

I left all I had outside.

I can't remember if I paid the meter. I guess once I leave I'll know what was most important to me. The clothes on my back and my self sympathy.