Icarus's blog: "Hurts to watch."

I'll put this through you.
Outerverse transpired like a crushed kitten between the lines.
Swirved for extra points.
Hand-jockied, plump and imprisoned
Something to hold onto
when they take your thumbs.

Tastes like dirt here.
The fog of your breath turns green and thick.
But you can see through the bars.
The sun is still shining, the stars are still smiling.
You're not allowed to count them.
You're not allowed to ask them.

Just shuffle the grit between your toes.
Hold your breath til you find yourself worthy.
End on a highnote at a low point.
Like some mewling bitch ground to powder and wet
warm
meat under heel.

Wait until another piece falls off.
There goes pride.
There goes sense.
There goes greed.
There comes panic.
Thundering and obtruding in my quiet corner of hell.

Before long you'll find yourself digging your way to freedom
china
a new pony
with your forehead.
Wittling the days across your remaining apendiges
the soft parts go first
the hunger takes second.

Licking what few bits of color come with it.
Some desperate attempt to exhume flavor
interpretation
but there is none.
This was all done of the cruel volition of your creator.
The brokedown sedan
the scratched minivan
the gargantuan rolling debt
perpetual mercantile obsession
unadulterated adulterism
hope
blinking past like drivethru windows
greasy self-indulgence of all shapes and sizes
and the flicker over your iris from mother's loving box.

Eat more. Spend more. Fuck more
and maybe you won't notice
the terrified
bored
uninspired scream,
the unindulged part of your soul
croaking out of your throat
like wet sand.

Feast your eyes
gorge your belly
spurt, slide and wallow in all the pornographic gold leaf porkrinds of life.
Tomorrow comes for you in this dank cell.

Evolve, bleed, suffer
discharge in the afterbirth of a rising.
So that you can appreciate the nightingale song
deaf, mute, tyranized or dead.