Paroxysm -You

Here...you can have this.....





You.
You...it was you.....

My mind is dead. Rotten, my hands bloody, slick and glossy.
The smell of a butcher’s apron fills the humid air, like smoked pigs,
stretched skin and burned to a dark, crisp...brown.
The dirty and dark yellow hair, glistening in the dim sun.
A bleeding metaphor. You taught me that.
You beat me without the slightest lenience.
Literally abused the life out of me,
the most powerful, distraught masturbation.
Sweat poured from your brow as you vigorously forged
my soul with your pestilence.
Your animosity was (and in some ways still stands)
a mockery to my intellect.
Gruesome disfigurement in my heart, horridly oblique.
A harrowing reminder of what you did to me,
of what you morphed me into.

You began as a bland, friendly, trusting outlet.
I could entrust in you, my morbid secrets and you would
keep them within your black boundaries.
You are lubricous, icy, always there. At times,
you would seduce me into your sympathetically prodigious
artifice. Assembled from mutilated bodies of art
hanging from the ceiling. I spectated on my kinsman.
One dangled from a thin rusty hook in the center of the
room. His heart was pendulous, rocking back and forth from
his skeletal body. His heart was completely separate from his
chest, if not for one last feeble piece of tissue still attaching it
to the body. His eyes were shut, as though he couldn't see
reason, truth, or knowledge. This atrocious, foul, corpse was
my friend. I stood there, watching it from the floor, timidly smiling.
The other carcass was covered in black plastic bags. The type of bag
that one would put garbage in. The bags were held together by
what seemed to be a long, slim fishing line. Constricted with the line from
head to toe, and finally leading to the ceiling. It hung inverted, from its feet.
I could not see the face of this one. But I could see tears in the bags.
One pair was located at the eyes. The other, at the top of the skull.
Those foreboding eyes watched me. They followed me around the room,
even with the dim light; I could still feel
it stalking me. I hated it. Detested. Loathed. I wanted to kill it, shred it to pieces,
just so it wouldn't haunt me. The apex of his head was shattered, like a broken window.
The top of his skull had receding skin, leading away from
his brain as though he himself was horrified of what lay in the confines of his mind.
I could see his brain; it was smooth, dark red, and moist. His mind frustrated me.
It would challenge me, the audacity of it. Sickening.

I spent more than a year in your room. Locked in, you held the key. I could not
approach you without being attacked. At this moment, as I write this. You have
me imprisoned. I loved you like a child; I raised you as I would want to be raised.
But in the end, it was you that trapped me, you that crushed me, you that made
Me....
You....it was...you....