To slip into sweet somnolence, unconscious
And thrilled into submission enthralling
As one rides opiate bliss, away from pain,
Away from light, down all corridors
Of mind, soul and sorrow forgotten…
Storm art, sound thy lovely refrain in sighs
From the tense nerves of a form filled
With pressures found in calm violence
That tear and rampage, ravagers inside
A macroscopic world, storm of pain.
The struggle is real, multiple locations make
Too real the swirl of aches, vector points
Converging in synergistic trifecta turbulence
To drain all power from mind, thought,
The form struck down and dumb, silent.
For those processes necessary to life
We are held enslaved, confined in time
Like puppets consigned to fates inexorable,
Inevitable, their nature illimitable, unchanging
Apart from the dire and disastrous, drowning
In our own excesses to be free from breathing,
Processing all that which keeps us alive,
Free to be bound in chemical chains; survive.
Who would have thought so much could wait,
Slumbering beneath the skin?; slow explosions glow,
Erupting along muscle ripples, the secret name
Unknown until the guest has settled, unwanted,
A home made like wasps honeycombing
It pulls from tendons stretched to itching point,
Nerve impulses blended in with blazing dumbness
To align all corridors of the mind, inveigling into
Cracks, crannies filled to bursting with the effluvia
Let loose, burning amok in patterns without
A uranium rod core that pulses
With its own singular vitality,
Marvellous to behold via nerves
In the maze of a body gone reactive.
Green, blue, purple and bright red,
Too many colour changes to process
For the spreading spidercracks creeping
Into every fibre of each muscle, taut.
Neuropathic, a salvo of sharp pulses
Travel along their accustomed route
To an unknown destination, there
To end their days and away fade.
Spark and fall, pulse and stab out
Down those prescribed lines dry
Dying in slow starlight convoys led
By forces elsewhere sore needed.
Numbly resides this finger upon my hand,
No tingles nor sparkles light up the nerves,
Dead inside and they wonder where lies
The feeling, the sensations, now numbly
I made the choice and sensory darkness
Rules this fingertip, the tingles spreading
Back from beyond a periphery of experience
Down the arm, into the hand, bright pain