Crooked Roads

Another splash of ink
spills across my rage
Is this my only voice?
Dumb letters on a page?

This is seed time
And I'm learning.
I want to wail like wind
Through abandoned childhood
Shriek like a weeping guitar.
Scream into space
Like a banshee,
Howling in void
And exorcise this
Rib gripping
Heart ripping
Lid flipping
In acknowledgement.

Listen! I will
Shout the weather forecast
At every devil
There's a storm brewin', friend.
There's a storm.

Another streak of dye
Bleeds into my hair
How else can I be seen?
Why should anybody care?
I have demanded to exist!
Right here,
Right now
With nothing,
Nothing left to prove.

Just this
Chest aching
Heart breaking
Mind shaking
And the wind thrashes
And the world is torn.
There's a storm brewin', friend.
There's a storm.

The night is pierced
And beats a tattoo.
And there
Is no earthly reason
Yet here I am,
Here I seem
To be.
No purpose higher
Than one ejaculation
Between damp sheets
Then cell
Upon cell
Dragged my viscera
Piece
By piece
From my mother's complaining body.
It was black in there
Until I spilled out
Into darkness.

Enough?
​
Or too much?

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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.

William Blake - Proverbs of Hell. ​