I cough up a little dried blood and try to figure out this sound
This pounding rhythm of dropping scarlet rain from a forked cloud
I suppose it is just found in my middle ear, right beside my brain
What else can explain this circulating in my vein, producing a migraine
So horrid the morbid seconds of viewing these ghastly phantoms
Appearing at random beside my unvieled bed without a ransom
Grandpa Earl and Grand-daddy Arnold as I am their grandson Luke Wentzell
A zombie enveloped in the serenity of sleep that mutes instrumentals
But here are the details...it has been two weeks without a rest of pace
I want these mental anneuryms to deplede under the stress of my days
Once thought of as a maturity phase developed to a full fledge haste
That kills the atmosphere with the fear that only neurotics will taste
At first - it was "Hell, fill up this plate" as I felt the breathing come alive
I have to grasp with the relization this man is the one my mom despised
I would find - as the sun broke through the clouds replenishing light
My eyes could obstruct the rest of the room's complex with a menacing sight
All day long, while the minutes elapsed into hours of being confined
To the smiles from the outer limits as I passed my power in the line
I would find this was really the climax of my life, nothing else after
That the pyschotic laughter would transcend to a senile self chatter
I would, or maybe unintentionally stumble as the antagonist of a child's dream
The scheme of being pale, old, destitute with a mind and body so unclean
Made the mirror so much broader, and dialated my pupils to a size
That symbolized the universe as my eyes while this narrow vision deprived
The other celestial beings in a space not large enough for me to cuff words
Put them into a prison of utter muttering and listening to a disgusted world
Where I have my very own booth and get the routine coffee check
All because I decided to mute these fools who clued me in but lost me at
Their proverbial speechs, now I lost me cents - make a dollar for my father
He was a senior who never engaged citizenship while trading honor
And with each yearly raise, his tales got a few inches taller
I looked in the mirror too, but a lot more often
Saw the same cleft in my chin as the one that I'm coughing
I rippled time's waters while the boat kept rocking
And started locking away life in my own mental coffin
So take my stench, chain it to the clenched fist and wait to rotate
Their arm until their body decays into a tense twist to procreate
Throw me and my wife into an oldfolk's home without any children
So I can resurrect my descendants into a metaphorphosis lulling
Once was haunted by the remorse of approaching the birth of a villian
So I cursed the living with course fingers from which the blood's running
Into the puddle of a scarlet life which I bled from this broken skull
Draining down the current over the rolling hills through the open wall