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The darkest Christmas...

Red Dreams And Razorblades

9949037b676f84f0e13774888cbcd136by Dee Sunshine29 Oct 2019

Imagine.
I see the hero-figure/ hear the wind on the window/
Feel it cold on my feet/ I’m frightened/ on my own
again.

Christmas.
Christ was born on the cross! Everywhere
These grey, sick, evil faces - grotesque masks -
Down every street you walk.
“Where,” I ask, “Is the salvation?”
I’ve asked this question so many times,
It reverberates in my skin, in the sky,
In the walls of this room: an unholy AUM,
Create, maintain, destroy. Create, maintain, destroy.
This pattern repeats ad infinitum,
But why?

Once I thought I touched God...
But it may just have been psilocybe psychosis
Or touching into someone else’s dreams.

The ghoststeps and lullabyebyes are in my bone soul:
Their voices, like the dribbling away of sand.
And out in the hall, there’s something weird/ wired...
And there is no connection to my body
Which is pulsing on its own.

And now, I’m coasting over the city skyline;
And far down below
Scrabbled in the corner of a room,
A small boy, crying.

I am numb, sucked in by flashes of astral blue.
Abraxas is crouched over me, whispering pictures
Into my eyes:
My father’s thunderface;
My mother and her sweet razor.

Abraxas touches me. His hand inscribes
A pentacle on my forehead,
A stab of ice
In my solar plexus.
I burn, I melt: I die a little.

The mist plays on my tongue.
I must have more.
I suck heavy on a cigarette/ drown down the feeling
Again/ struggle to obliterate the silence/
But I falter
And the silence turns against me.
An unseen hand writes on the sheeted mirror:
Red Dreams And Razorblades.
Red dreams: the mess that razors made.

I cut myself away from me
In the name of freedom
But ended up
Chained & bound.

These ribbons round my wrist
Cut and burn and twist,
But I am numb.
I feel nothing.

I want to run away, become a machine:
I’m sick of stumbling.
I shall sleep no more:
I am a beggar on midnight street.
See these hands? They are blue-white, bloodless lard.
I hold them out: my eyes pleading. See these rib bones protruding?
I am hungry. No-one will feed me.

I don’t want death. I don’t want rebirth.
I want Brahman: perfection, freedom and love.
All I’ve got is embarrassment & cold draughts,
Chains & masturbation.

I want flight. Perfect flight.

Media

Audio