Neural Poetry – The Anodyne

“But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul.” — Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat

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I shall not speak to hallow

the poppy road in bloom

my mind is bleak and shallow

my soul

wallows in gloom

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so every other sunset

I crave a toxic flash

I pray for instant onset

of acid opium hash

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pink bubbles blur my vision

I close my eyes in pain

takes but a small incision

to heal my haunted brain

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I feel the world turn inward

imploding as it grows

mental disintegration

bliss

of an overdose

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although I sense the damage

I cannot feel regret

to dream in my own image

to drown in my own sweat

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spine frozen to the ceiling

blue lips voice soundless words

corruption of my cortex

my reptile brain

stirs

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house of the silent people

no pictures on the walls

no shadows in the twilight

no more unwanted calls

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indifference my religion

no reason to complain

no faith or superstition

no guilt, remorse

nor pain.

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Peter Bies © 2009

6 thoughts on “Neural Poetry – The Anodyne

  1. “Echter Humor ist Lachenüber sich selbst, echtes Menschsein ist Bewußtsein von sich selbst.”
    Schönen Dank, Peter!!!

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