Worst Case Scenario

I stand with myself, 3 parts shadow
One parts light spilled into a broken cocoon
I'm isolated inside this dream, marred by reality
Tarred with every sinners brush
By no-one but my mind
And alone.

Upright, not vertical on this rusted path
Which winds into forever
Rich green leafy, foreboding backgrounds
With a dark mist motif crowding the oxygen
I breathe?

The foreground twists onward
Like a shabby double helix
between 2 misshapen mirrors
Makes mortal eyes bleed brine
And whisper insanity
Cheats analysis

Ahead of me lie three stagnant pools
Simmering inside their discontent
Employed by the marrow of isolation
their best imitation of obsolete wishes
I'm drawn towards them
Donkey to a carrot
Fish to a barbed maggot

Slow bubbles form, bulge and break
As I lower myself cross-legged
Into the core of this liquid stench
My first true fear, Envelopes me
My pores siphon the horror
Breaks me down
To my constituents

I mingle inside, a thousand eyes
Divided by the sum of my existence
Times by paranoia, add my darkest core
My cells separate, forced to mingle
Each cell holds an eye
The form of my brain
Separate

I feel like a fly with a thousand lenses
During the deepest REM sleep
My thoughts linger, then shift uneasily
As I twist my form towards them
The rain shifts downward
Shooting holes through the milky fog above me

bullet holes through the purest white blanket
Above, beyond, below
A vision stirs, and rests
Places itself in my very being
Like a cinema screen shaped like a ball
And I'm sat, mid air, inside
The screen depicts the oldest of men
But young inside of his years
A sagging , broken, lumpy green chair
This man is I, this chair is mine
Me.

My vest is broken by holes
Punctuated by the stains of apathy
My pyjama bottoms, clown pants
Doing their best to be satanic
This is me, this is my fear

I watch him sit, for hours upon hours
Kleenex, porn, no phone calls or friends
The last train left, the station abandoned
A life in the slowest of motions
He has no job, no wife, no friends, no life
He sits on the brink of sanity

He doesn't smile, his face doesn't change
My fear locks him down
Stationary
Going through the lotion of a life
Populated by his thoughts only

I'm rattled to my very core as a raindrop split's
The vision down the middle
Like a knife through a stone
Painful to watch
Slow with friction
Boiling with gentle force
Alone to the power of one

The rain keeps falling
My cells dance themselves into a tumour
In the middle of this swollen pool
It throbs and aches with tears that cant fall
Shudders itself together
The clouds cry for me
My one true calling

Soon the three puddles, form to one
And rest inside a sudden calm
The skies fail to fall
The lies stall
My cells gasp and break away
Free inside this collection of still
Tranquil with terror

The last two fears hurtle towards me
Rounding me up like patient cattle
Blood, sweat, tears wont grow
Just a mild panic
Stretched through dull hours

I recede again, inside my fears
Still sat in a chair digesting itself
A body of disgust, shaped by the vest
A price tag hung like a noose
To poison myself with life
A straitjacket to chafe
To cure myself from reality

This time I hear his thoughts
My thoughts? Forbidden
An insanity etched around
A dull paste of colour
Lucid, pallid, scratched to a point

A whitewash across my eyes
I grope and reach out for hope
My hands disappear into his head
I scratch around in the filth
And retreat when all I discover
Is a gentle, longing ache
A vacuum of voids

The chair turns to a vivid green
And sags to suit its owner
It spins and twists and burns to a stop
And the room contracts down
The walls form like a coffin
Around me, a blanket over
The dampest of fires

The walls turn to broken tiles
Each a different shape to the others
Each seemingly paused on the brink
Of combustion
Each a different vivid colour
Each throbbing against me
At different speeds

Somehow they manage an offbeat
As a mishmash of light and discords
Fill the spaces the colours leave
Where the oxygen dies
Where the tiles don't throb

I close my eyes against the pulse
Of tears and tiles and coloured shapes
Each containing a fear of mine
Each breaking me, fixing me
Leaving me defeated

My darkest black and white dreams
Crayoned in by a child's hand
In ghastly oranges which inject
Pastille greens and reds
Scribbled Into my very essence
Essential.

No longer about a torrid future
This fear breaks and washes
From behind me, from all I know
To be true
Somehow worse, somehow better
The simplest paradox forms
A sentence across the stars

The past attacks, the last of my fears
A broken infantry of guns
Stumbles and darkness
Dead branches cracking underfoot
Sounds muffled by the trees
Still upright
Still rooted
One leg feeding a thousand faces
They loom, make me feel small
Vulnerable
Nailed to the cross
Which is all but faith
The wind cries for help in vain
From the limbs it brushes past
Dogs labouring for breath
Cold death seeps
From salivating tongues

A vision lingers
Slow, decanted
Made plump by the whistling
Light of pure darkness
A pheasant, prone to flight
Not fight
doesn't move
Makes itself a corner to hide in
In the middle of a field
Autumnal mud

Staggering muscles fight to stay still
This pheasant so scared
It cant move
Wont move
And so it stays
The dogs held by the leash of my father

A memory, or a glimpse to the future
Metaphor or simple meaning
My brain has ceased analysis
So I stay, too scared to do anything but watch
This pheasant waiting for mercy

And then a view of me as a child
Hiding in my fathers shadow
Waiting for him to choose
The fate of a bird
Broken down from genes
To senseless oceanic perspectives
Which hold the fear of hope
And hold no fear of faith
It simply doesn't
No.