the only one who
ever gave me a refund
on how i was feeling
was you. the till
was always clamped. shut. no one had
what i was looking for.
no one recognised
i only had the exit. key in my pocket.
cold hands reaching.
i still see ,the sign.
flickering like a moth in and
out the light. dancing with
the devil. a glow-worm
my exit – a becoming – glow. it’s everywhere i go.
the man with the blade follows me.
I follow the rich red velvet — the decompose.
he turns the light above the doorway on.when
i least expect it. leaves the door for me,
when im not okay. it’s okay to not be. i lie, in wait.
i glance into the distract. life trails away.
in the dark, droplets of pain flick off, metal glints.
pain lies,it knows no truths. its trickster whispers –
the becoming scream – in league
with the hellbrain. the dark subtractions
of me. suicides unforgiving past projector
lighting up. the wall ahead, distorting.
twisting my thoughts. wiping out all reason.
a static overload tuned to the judgement station.
the post it notes of past mistakes, razor wire stitched
inside my shredded, peeling soul.
if the devil is in the details,
who is it i see lurking
in the shadows of
disorder, waiting for me?
©Copyright Karen Bain 2017.All Rights Reserved.