The Flow: Mine is a Frost-bitten, Sun-burned Mind by Seth Pierce

The sun was red and furious, and beat down on my retinas so hard it left me delirious
It was obvious I was oblivious, aimlessly waiting for nothing to strike me as curious
Lost in wonderment, wandering through the bad-lands of the damned
My willpower slipping like sand through my hands
My mind got fed up and said goodbye
Going to find shade by way of mirages marching in a parade of oasis
I knew I was wasted, but in a concrete desert wasteland nothing can be waste-less
So I sat down and closed my eyes until I felt weightless
Even though I was numb, sleep never came to take me away
My body was weary but my legs grew restless
So I opened my eyes and stood up
Wishing my lungs weren't breathless
By the stride of night I walked
Crippled, from the sores on my feet to the very core of my crippled soul
Until I couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore
Invasive to any species
I pleaded with life to leave me drugged or let me keep dreaming
But it rebutted by rebuking me, and left me curled up in a ball screaming in agony
In an arm’s reach of anguish I thought the pain I felt was harder to bear
Than trying to breath under water, without any air
Stretched out like a loving crucifixion for a birthday gift
Scarred by addiction that was too heavy to lift
Licking the wounds on my lacking conscience
Pride fell in love with self-disdain
Having forgotten about forgiveness, that was once supposedly with us
And left me hanging there, scared, for the crows to pick apart
Straw heart, and all
Until what remained of my being were some tattered old clothes
And a dusty memory
No foes came crying to this feux Jesus
Calling up to a miserable excuse for a messiah,
“Savior climb down and save us”
Soldiers betting over his wardrobe
Strangers bickering over his first name
They all went home happy to their fat wives (just the same)
And slept with a mindless absence of tears in their eyes
When they woke and went to work
They witnessed he was gone, vanished like a magician
Grave-robbers must have come under the cloak of night
With a ladder and a dozen men strong
To pry the nails from the hands of salvation
And stole away the so called son of man
For their own personal insurrection
I just wish they had made a mistake
And taken me instead


-Seth M. Pierce

11/26/11

You can view more of Seth Pierce's work at Central Elements