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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 09-June 15:57:44 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 156297
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Accustomed to Desolation
[time] => 2009-12-28 11:01:57
[hometext] => It is worth swallowing a mouthful of depression in order to experience a small taste of mania.
[bodytext] => The crooked gates are opening. I must go now; I’ve spilled black paint again. Condemned to incarceration. Assigned to solitary confinement. A scrap metal perimeter. Twenty-three hours lockup, plus one hour recreation; my daily routine. I desperately wait; infected with diseases that slither and crawl. At last, it’s time! Thirty-six hundred seconds. Without warning, all interest has vanished. I withdraw into my cavity. Creeping through the water supply -- the paint has discovered a way. Swallowing sludge; thick and rotten. I am forced to drink. Tremors caused by misery are covered with chicken skin. Cockroaches are released from my gut; the bats are nesting in my psyche. Obsessions with death seduce compulsions of self-torture. I say a final goodbye to none but myself. Pure, undisturbed snow; glistening over a warm, winter-wonderland. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? “ No. It’s Mania… ” “ Let's take a vacation -- Let’s indulge for a while ” Christopher A. Rousseau Saturday, December 19, 2009 [comments] => 0 [counter] => 222 [topic] => 59 [informant] => chris07 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 13 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => psychoticpoems )
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