THE MIDDLE FINGER

A line to retrieve my senses ... to complete the unwoven patches of brutality dreams of romance create .. i want to wash away the sins Love has procured on me .. maybe a bath in holy Ganges water?.. to purge away the purgatory of ideal blissfulness --- demand agony -- reciprocate with fear ... thats what all of them want ... these Gods of Lives .. to crush and dismantle ... to produce so they can flatten the atom.. Gloved hands want to wipe away my tears with their solitary white and black masks .. they enclose my screams with their beloved Choir .. Tears are my sanctity .. a homage to my helpless identity ... finally a ring of a bell ... a ring of the hollowness that forms me .. "Black is Still Light for Goodness Sake!!! " i shout, .. crucification but an historically worshiped escape.. so are my angels white in colour with black wings of cupidity? ... is my breath but a mix of sorrow and rules? .. is my non confirmation but an assertion to my silent fears? .. is my hope the Black Cloak Of Invisibility? ..

Therefore my heaven is but the deranged blues of a sonata and my Beethoven a dissipating black mist ..

I laugh at my Light!!