u/Drawgballs

I opened my eyes
She smiles and says we’re finished
I knew I was close
So very close
I just couldn’t quite… put my finger on it
I exit the therapist’s office
Shame burning inside me like an ache I can’t scratch

I then am remembered to the dilapidated grimy gas station
And next to it, the boarded up shop with pink, dangerous, voluptuous lettering
Pain over Lace and Love
And in front of it, the secretive owner of the establishment
Her fiery hair and cold sensual authoritative demeanor
Combined with her memento mori beauty
Somehow spurred me to speak with her
She said no words in return
She only began walking towards the
Pain over Lace and Love
Her assistant, had a strong hand around my shoulder
And soon her assistant had a needle injected into my stomach
And soon all fell to blackness and shame.

When I awoke the gorgeous owner was gone
I was in a grating cacophonous factory
They made me choose
And I picked the skeletal metal hand with the pretty pink heart in the center
They cut my hand and replaced it
With the cute, clanking, pink imitation
They laid me on the table
And brought out their pin gun
And began forcibly inserting the six inch pins into my excruciated flesh
Perhaps to keep me together?
I knew the means were meant to titillate
But inside me there was only fear and fear
But my subconscious knew
Even that was deserved.

I opened my eyes
She smiles and says we’re finished
I knew I was close
So very close
I just couldn’t quite… put my finger on it
I exit the therapist’s office
Shame burning inside me like an ache I can’t scratch

I then am remembered to the dilapidated grimy gas station
And next to it, the boarded up shop with pink, dangerous, voluptuous lettering
Pain over Lace and Love
And in front of it, the secretive owner of the establishment
Her fiery hair and cold sensual authoritative demeanor
Combined with her memento mori beauty
Somehow spurred me to speak with her
She said no words in return
She only began walking towards the
Pain over Lace and Love
Her assistant, had a strong hand around my shoulder
And soon her assistant had a needle injected into my stomach
And soon all fell to blackness and shame.

When I awoke the gorgeous owner was gone
I was in a grating cacophonous factory
They made me choose
And I picked the skeletal metal hand with the pretty pink heart in the center
They cut my hand and replaced it
With the cute, clanking, pink imitation
They laid me on the table
And brought out their pin gun
And began forcibly inserting the six inch pins into my excruciated flesh
Perhaps to keep me together?
I knew the means were meant to titillate
But inside me there was only fear and fear
But my subconscious knew
Even that was deserved.

There is a part of the voyage through the crucible
Out there towards the end
It contains dangers and subtleties that the storytellers never sing about
And I find it is more dangerous
Than the whole of the maelstrom and lightning stricken Night

The Compass- the one that which held you
Until it it was dashed into the opaque naught below
Can no longer aid you
The emptiness of your palm screams at you
Yet the whole of the ship and all of its crew
Continue on as if all was fortune and fine.

You know you must construct a new course
A new sky
And in the following years
You make your attempts
Your nascent moth
Cannot breathe without resting upon your lungs
And where the quiet insidious crises arise
Is when your ship, and those crew members
Continue the rhythms of the Compass
As if it wasn’t sunk, cracked, and
Gone.

And this
Contradiction
Inevitably curses your lungs to
Work and work and work and work
Until suddenly you remember the fragile moth resting in your beleaguered chest
And you cannot tell if by your own lungs it was slain
These worries, these doubts, and constant
Confusion
Make you lose your way

It’s enough to wrack your body with such grief that it may fall overboard
Into the cold depths of the nothing,
A possibility, which never once crossed your heart even through that bitter wretched Night
Yet through all this, you know your sky
Is yet being breathed into being
There in your chest
Though the fledgling moth
Is battered and bruised
It will live as long as you will it to do so

Even as the ship groans and your crew mates scream at you in fear of the oncoming black clouds
And as your lungs do the same
The only thing that will keep your feet
On solid ground
Is the remembrance of that moth that is
Yours.
The worst is over
But death yet looms its fingers through the waters all the more
In the unlearned, untested course for home.

There is a part of the voyage through the crucible
Out there towards the end
It contains dangers and subtleties that the storytellers never sing about
And I find it is more dangerous
Than the whole of the maelstrom and lightning stricken Night

The Compass- the one that which held you
Until it it was dashed into the opaque naught below
Can no longer aid you
The emptiness of your palm screams at you
Yet the whole of the ship and all of its crew
Continue on as if all was fortune and fine.

You know you must construct a new course
A new sky
And in the following years
You make your attempts
Your nascent moth
Cannot breathe without resting upon your lungs
And where the quiet insidious crises arise
Is when your ship, and those crew members
Continue the rhythms of the Compass
As if it wasn’t sunk, cracked, and
Gone.

And this
Contradiction
Inevitably curses your lungs to
Work and work and work and work
Until suddenly you remember the fragile moth resting in your beleaguered chest
And you cannot tell if by your own lungs it was slain
These worries, these doubts, and constant
Confusion
Make you lose your way

It’s enough to wrack your body with such grief that it may fall overboard
Into the cold depths of the nothing,
A possibility, which never once crossed your heart even through that bitter wretched Night
Yet through all this, you know your sky
Is yet being breathed into being
There in your chest
Though the fledgling moth
Is battered and bruised
It will live as long as you will it to do so

Even as the ship groans and your crew mates scream at you in fear of the oncoming black clouds
And as your lungs do the same
The only thing that will keep your feet
On solid ground
Is the remembrance of that moth that is
Yours.
The worst is over
But death yet looms its fingers through the waters all the more
In the unlearned, untested course for home.