The Horror of Sobriety
by Bryan Jackson
I’m walking around in the light of day
and, I can’t tell if I’m dreaming
is that person laying in the street screaming?
Everyone’s face blurs and decays
my vision hasn’t been focused in days.
Conversations with others seem hollow because there’s no connection
avoiding these moving simpletons,
I wander till I see a window booming my harsh reflection.
I stare into myself searching for living confirmation
my mind fights me,
so I drink in a ruthless retaliation.
Bottles of cheap vodka lay agonizingly empty
I drank them down like there was plenty.
Only a bowls worth of weed is left unsmoked
not a good time for me to be provoked.
The lady of the house knows well of my disease
and, like an angel delivers Brandy to give reprieve.
Brandy straight with ice while smoking Loud,
makes my mind conform
although, no one who loves me is proud.
They aren’t my concern, I need a release
being inebriated brings on a great peace.
No inhibitions makes for great fucking
some sensations are dulled
as noticed during vigorous oral sucking.
Now, I can be inspired and with a fire set I create
I’m aware that you may not be able to relate.
That’s a positive as I am not to be idolized
leave me drunk and writing,
so that hellish fantasizes may be realized.
The Horror of Death
by Bryan Jackson
The funeral home has been standing for generations
burying many, thousands sent through uncompromising incinerations.
The walls pulsate with all the sorrow they’ve witnessed
loved ones crying for friends and family snatched from existence.
Pain and horror collect below where corpses are stored
to witness their death and aftermath would leave the squeamish floored.
A woman falls victim to an insecure and abusive spouse
she’s beaten to death with fists in her marital house.
Once beautiful and desired by many, often envied by most
now she lays split with a Y-incision
reliving the pain and watching on as a ghost.
A man set fire to himself in an unloving brick home
his burns so severe that there’s char on the bone.
Burnt, blackened flesh that smells of hot hell
resides in a clear bag in the freezer
where gases cannot cause the body to swell.
Just two examples of the coroner’s countless clients
an educated person indeed but,
not even a coroner can explain the aftermath of death with science.
Working to preserve the body and each individual’s beauty
now that’s not only stressful, but a great and honorable duty.
As always, evil will find its way in
not even the medical profession is unsusceptible to sin.
A not so mangled body lays waiting with absolutely no say
the perverse mortician sees it as a toy with which to play.
The horror of death scars and taints souls
only to have a strange doctor violate once pleasurable holes.
Surrounded by death it soon becomes hard to relate to those still alive
in order to cope one crosses boundaries and with the dead they swive!
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