The Acid Queen The light above me is buzzing, Humming and dancing, Jitterbugging to a Leonard Bornstein musicality, Over my head, I chew, and bite, Hoping for this literal empty feeling in my mouth, To vanish, Ears perked, Vision precise, Perhaps too much so, Framing every individual object, On its own plane of existence, Heart tense, Neck tense, My eyes call out in desperation, What I do not know is to whom, no one, Cold and stinging I remember a time when simplicity, Was a word to describe my setting, Regular in fact, Till a Queen in all her televised glory came to throne, Convicting me for her abuse and sentencing me to this cold, Scary room, Where I live, Silently, To hear the death creep to my door and slip between the bars, And lay me to rest, A rest I cannot obtain, A rest I cannot accept, One I fight with every waking moment and every fabric in my being, The lights stop for a moment, the briefest of moments, A photonegative flash in time, Where I am blind, Or so I lead myself to that conclusion, Fear strikes me, shall I never know of the one of six again, The colours that were so vivid, And now even more so, uncomfortably so, The Queen’s cursing of me I think, Along with the empty feeling in my belly, The dryness of my throat, Ready to vomit at the slightest of emotion, Along with the haze set in the darkest of places, And the heart-stopping in the twilight, When I wake clutching my veins in hope they are still pumping, Like I feel right now, Clutching, Trying desperately to make sense of all of this, The tingling now on my hands as I type these words to you, Can it be fixed, Can the hex be disarmed, Or perhaps is it not a incantation of a Queen but of something else, As my blood pumps clumpy in my shell, Are pills the answer, Will they give me and end that death cannot, One where I get to see my friends, One where I get to find a lover, One where I can finish what my mother and father started, I wonder, Pondering, Hoping in some weakness that not even infants can understand, Shall I bite down on them, Send them crumbling into my mouth, Ships of peace into my stomach, To slowly invade my brain to keep me on the level, Will they save me, Or ruin me, Should I try or give up, I might try, I will try, Drinking my own produced salty liquid to wash down the pills, The easy way out, Perhaps, Maybe not, Or do I stay cursed, Is that my lot in life for my indulgences, It may be, But I will try to be a good boy from now on, While skipping out on my chore, Slaving for the acid Queen. Eyelids Here, Let me get that for you, She said as her calloused hand reached out, And lit my cigarette, She did it with such grace, Such beauty that I could not fathom, Her dress grazed my leg as she waked, Not walked, danced to the stove, And pour another cup of tea for me, Milk and sugar, I nod, Wonderful she says back plopping a sugar cube into the blackness of the tea, A tango plays in my head as again, She sweeps across the floor, As if a feather, Caught in a springtime draft, Her heals click to accentuate her perfection, Exclamation points that help in the framing of this event, She sets the tea down, It’s surface is still, silent in fact, A merrier to the world which I was now living, Sir. May I ask you a question, Sure thing, why the hell not, Well, I was wondering what, She plays with a strand of her blond hair for a moment, What is it like, The question snaps around my head, Like fingers being crushed by brick and large masses of architecture, What is it like, I ask, knowing full well, Take I look I dare say, As I take off my glasses, Look, here, I say, closing my eyes, Your eyes, Look into your eyes, She asks, No dear, not my eyes, The lids, The lids dear, that is where it all is explained, A death of great power, Look, look, and imitate, In your mind for I cannot tell you what it is like, I hold her hand, She holds mine, The tea still silent, holding its breath, Imagine, Colours so vivid they burn your retinas, Imagine, Checkerboard cars driving down blood coloured streets, Cathedral tree branches forming tunnels in the snowy night, Doll houses with window panes that bend and swivel on the best of occasions, Imagine, Boats sailing on your cigarette package, Gooseflesh of diamonds, And lights of a cavernous kind worthy of the sea, Imagine, What you had for lunch, Dancing in your belly to a tune played by an electric orchestra, Imagine, Passion, conception, love, hate, death and birth encapsulated in a barcode, Placed on you, Giving you value, Then it being taken away, For you realize it is no longer needed, You do not need a value to be placed on you for you are now at level with everything, From the roots, To the sky, Spanning out like a web connected to your heart and the collective subconscious, Your dreams, Vanish, Cause you are living them, Imagine that dear, If you can,
