rehabilitating a distorted perception
memory like wind
lash the flesh of the subject foreground
firmly held in it’s cyclone size hands
a salty serpent's tongue
licks the wounds till the canvas succumbs
tortured, bled out, perfectly executed
the child looks up to Mother
offering the art into her care
another faded cadaver
for the psychoanalyst to picnic upon
stitched dreams of grandeur
maelstroms of nightmarish carnage
here is where I stumble
lost in the grand hall of my imagination
wall papered in ethereal decay
where blistered blue paint a shoreline to be reached
and rust dripping from exposed nail heads, salvation
Disturbed -'THE SOUND OF SILENCE'