... hell IS happening...

i feel so wasted and low,
like nothing's worth.
so troubled,
that troubles don't seem wicked
anymore.

so pained,
that now it seems my only escape.
wasted carcasses of wants
hang on hinges,
devoid of their surge of salty rust.
beheaded.
they seem like another plaything
to be used and thrown away.

voices! voices!
voices from an alabaster dream
while it shines flashbulbs in my eyes.
deafening, so imposing,
like a bat's tenderness raped at a concert.

crimson scars decorate the skin
every now, one drips another poison.
screaming, screeching inanimately.
burning in a cold flame of hyssop.
in hysterics over this hysterectomy!
ironical in an unconcealed way...

content in the hollow.
content in wasting away.....