Detritus
The bad apple
Our woes, our foes, they are not fair.
But yet, I shall strip them bare.
The final toast has been prepared;
most of them have dreamt their share.
They coast around and boast aloud like mad dogs.
All the while the bogs in war prove no lame bore, and my nights of yore rough me till I rot.
Please, miss, buff me with your shot.
Craven or raven they will say.
I know not; I just prey.
You can comment if you want.
They think I need a flower,
when what I really need is a plower;
something to wash my scorn.
Those eyes borne unto me aren't mine;
the judgments I make not so sublime;
why can't they see, these are not fine .
Be it the anchor or the cross bound spear,
the piercing is not what I fear.
But beyond that base perforation of the flesh,
will it even more bore to my core?
Will the pain without mirror
the pain within?
To deny this observation is to deny
the rules of conservation: when there is a tumble, there will surely be a rumble.
I abhor this intrusion into my humble abode,
never mind the inclusion of bumble as a mode.
I shall duly request that these flames get off my chest,
surely they will obey at my behest.
Last edited by Detritus; 02-02-2017 at 12:42 AM.
I say I am wizard of prestidigitation,
but my audience saw an arrest in my station.
For repose the blizzard
has provided me fine libation.
Line up and see the show of the sun king,
the person who will burn for you.
Bring in a thunderous roar of applause
so that the illusion will be shocked rigid.
Do not let your instruments grow frigid,
warm them with your use.
Pot your leftover sentiments
for later to stave off the blues.
The unmarked
Into the dense, cleansing waves the jarring buzzing sound came. Cain's eyes fluttered gently at first then flung open violently. It always amazed him that even with the constant ambience of the buzzing, and the harsh white of the walls and lights, that he was able to manage any sleep at all. But once he feels the first stirring he's sure that its time to get up at once. Father had once told him that people have a tendency to awaken before an alarm sounds because the disruption of REM is undesirable. Cain understood this explanation, but what really prompted the regularity of his sleep cycles was that "predatory look" Father occasionally exhibited-- a phrase he had become familiar with during his breaktime booktime yet still not one he'd had practical use for.
He knew that he would have approximately one hour before Father and Mother would come to administer the tests. This time between when Cain woke up and the administering of his tests was sacred, because even though the tasks he was given did not always hurt and sometimes he enjoyed them, there is a sense of unpredictability and unease related to being led around on a leash. The leash here being the strange black mark on his hands, the thing that looked like a black blob with a tail-- a question mark potentially?
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