Panic bug

[Imgormiel]

Panic Bug​

Creep. Crawl.
Mind lost to the horror of shot gunned brains on the wall.
The bloodied broken nose.
Misshapen face.
Who am I now?

Panic usurps the calm of my papal place.
It has a strange soothing feeling.
The directive compass spinning out of control.
Control.
Know no control.
No. Yes. No.
Illusive black panther.
Search in the dark for a quantum answer.
The Fibonacci series.
Common sense lay bare on random fruit machine reels.
Some glue...attach moments for permission to feel.

I am a bug - not an alien.

Time and beer worsens understanding and the flow of losing touch.
No invasion is pending.
Paranoia maketh the ogre of one’s surroundings.
Kick it into touch and impound it.
Some blinding shadows.
Always evading their shelter from the heavy weather.
Wondering if around the corner walks the terminating hammer.
Faux pas my downward spiralskelter.

I am but not alien – a bug.

Leaks in my mask.
The gas of something else.
Gases lie of illusion.
Think in just camera.
Information overload.
Make the brain insane.
To be a part of belief or deception.
The sense of deception and dissection of life.

Your opportunity is murdered media.
Put it in a straight jacket or take it further.
Jigsaw intact. Stain the tatters together.
There flies by a second of me. A minute of me.
A reckoning of me.
Roulette speech of blindness.
Disarray the fashion of confusion.
Feed upon the regurgitated thought over and over.

I am bug – not alien.

What is left is but a rain rotten corpse.
The flesh fed stomach of dry bones.
Yearning for rejuvenation.
Yet left for mould to feast on.
The breathing words of the dead.
A voice of gold cold.
The silence and fear speak louder than the wind.
Numbness is left to show disease.
Therein lays my escape.
Where the persistent laughter of this state leads me to say.

I am but not alien – panic bug.