I keep hearing the phone ring.
Sometimes a low hum, or whisper... a rap at the door. My lights are off and the music is loud. Too loud?
A dirge...
You'd think I was going insane. Maybe I am. An eeking, creaking, slow slump into madness.
Is it passion? My hood: up. Static: a flickering reflection replacing my face. Vivisection... Mad Science, I dissect the psyche with a learned exactness. Foraging my hands into the wet meat of their fears, insecurities and odd, frightened motivators.
Body on the operating table, skin and muscle on the abdomen peeled back like blooming flower of flesh. The heart; lungs; intestine; liver; kidneys, all a human jigsaw. Or just the pieces of my scattered dementia?
She hums and there's a whisper. A rap at the door. The music is loud. Too loud?
And then the phone rings.
Sometimes a low hum, or whisper... a rap at the door. My lights are off and the music is loud. Too loud?
A dirge...
You'd think I was going insane. Maybe I am. An eeking, creaking, slow slump into madness.
Is it passion? My hood: up. Static: a flickering reflection replacing my face. Vivisection... Mad Science, I dissect the psyche with a learned exactness. Foraging my hands into the wet meat of their fears, insecurities and odd, frightened motivators.
Body on the operating table, skin and muscle on the abdomen peeled back like blooming flower of flesh. The heart; lungs; intestine; liver; kidneys, all a human jigsaw. Or just the pieces of my scattered dementia?
She hums and there's a whisper. A rap at the door. The music is loud. Too loud?
And then the phone rings.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
this is personal invitation to join a new group on the site devoted to vonnegut and other literate, disenfranchised american voices of dissent
zh
[Edited on Feb 01, 2005 1:46PM]