Coil
by Sam M. Phillips

I want to scream,
Your presence makes me dream in mean schemes,
Self-mutilation all I see in my mind,
Unkind voices call and blind me to any feeling,
I’m reeling,
So confused,
Feel used by terror tantrum titans,
Want to light them on fire,
Desire to run,
The son with nothing to give,
Cannot forgive myself,
An ingrate,
All I do is grind and grate,
Each one against the other,
Nothing but pain to my father and mother,
Why do I bother?
When any effort turns on me,
Confronts me,
Nothing comforts me.

Knife guts,
Chest cavity ruts,
Cavernous brain with loose struts,
Cold skin with open cuts,
Pen in hand,
All I can do,
To distract from pain and disdain,
Clear a lane and I’ll bolt,
Cannot cope with this jolt,
Too freakish to exist,
A fetish masochist,
My wish,
To just be able,
To put it aside,
To make a fable in which to hide,
A false mask,
A set cast,
To heal something,
A wicked wounded wing,
A sting with red sore mound,
A coil in which I’m wound.

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