Barbed Wire: Silver and Red

Trying to remember to breath,
Trying to remember to let it go,
Let it all out, don’t let it seethe,
Don’t drink the poison, just let it drain out.

So swallow another poison,
To act as an antidote, to counteract
The presence of rage and descent; being coy son?
I do what I must.

If it means that I cuss, and swear like a sailor,
If it means that I drown, and drown out the flavor;
What’s it to you? Little pieces of me
You carve out to structure your perfect vision.

The illusion of muscle and nerve,
To give voice to thought, and action to word;
How naive was I, to stress this as a curve
To learn and discern and give meaning to the source?

Foolish was I, curling my fingers into fists
When the tendons had long since been removed;
To grit my teeth and score my wrists
Against my prison’s grated walls.

Such a waste, cuz now I feel
The distinct pull and grate of skin against knives,
Of muscle-shredding hooks and bloody seals;
I can torque the force that barely keeps it all together.

24 Knives, 24 lives, and all isn’t yet told,
When ever will I learn? Perhaps
Before I’m too old?
The pinch of flesh remains to remind me.

Remind me that 24 years and 24 knives,
Held me shackled to 24 lies,
Where 24 friends held my arms immobile;
24 ribs slot 24 scythes.

When lungs expand, I try to remember to breath
And ignore the welling blood dripping to fill
The air cavity underneath
A drowning voice, shackled hands.

Drowning is just an out-of-body experience,
I say, raising the bottle back to my lips
To taste my chosen brand of hell
Sometimes choices are more important than the outcome…

Salvation comes in so many forms,
To a desert wanderer, salvation is an oasis,
To an outcast, joining accepting norms;
To the insecure, redemption.

But sometimes salvation,
Is just a bus cresting the hill
After hours of waiting in anticipation
And stepping out before it loses momentum.

And maybe this is salvation, this thorn and past tense,
These loops of wire cutting into my flesh,
Arms outstretched, chained to the fence,
Wrists and throat wrapped tightly in barbed wire.

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Published by

opalflame

I am artist, analyst, author, poet, composer, musician to name a few aspects of myself. A bit of a jack of trades, I dabble into many fields that encourage the blossom of imagination and allow me to channel my creativity. I dream vividly and view the world through the lens of optimism and opportunity while acknowledging the ink and shadows.

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