rehabilitating a distorted perception
wind lashes the flesh of the subject
firmly held in it’s cyclone size hands
as a salty serpent's tongue
licks the wounds till the canvas gives in
tortured, bled out, the child looks up
to Mother’s glowing face
an offers the art into her care
another faded cadaver
for the psychoanalyst to picnic upon
stitched dreams of grandeur
maelstroms of nightmarish carnage
and here is where I stumble to rise up
lost in the hallway of my imagination
wallpapered in ethereal decay
where blistered blue paint, a shoreline to be reached
where rust dripping from exposed nail heads, salvation
Disturbed -'THE SOUND OF SILENCE'