Zdzisław Beksiński
Shut your eyes until they wish to see for themselves and if they do not, be kind.
Shut them forever.
Darkness will enlighten.
Darkness makes my skin lighter.
Darkness makes the edges of my teeth unclench.
Darkness makes perforations in my regrets and shakes it off in dark.
Darkness settles in the small of my back, the skin in the arches of my knees and arms.
Darkness does neither ask nor force.
It rests; instead like a lukewarm fabric on a seething forehead.
The heat, not a failing of immunity but a failing of the spirit.
Fancy words. Loud Brains. Plaguing mouth. Pigmented Eyes.
Diseased ghosts of your body's past.
Past like a crumbling Epitaph.
Slow fermentation of emotion.
Mental carcinogens on a suicide mission.
Rehearsed lies of a martyred poetess.
Witchcraft in a desert.
The healing spell of a Eunuch's curse.
Rings in straw hearts.
Eyes bleed art.Blood bleeds more lies.
Please a writer.Knife your soul.
Anti-climatic floodlights at the end of the life-cuticle.
Disparities of the universe.
Violate knowledge.
Kerosene your troubled childhood and ignite your hormonal effigies in the mass orgy of an emotionally apocalyptic Eden's attic.
She spited death for its charm.It provoked her because she was easy.
She tore at her skin to wash the residues of her failures.
Them, too wise to converse courted instead.
Please do not hang by the sheets tonight, there as is an impending funeral.
Hold the carousel a little more tight, it is but a carnival.
For father, feign your self to religion.
For mother, this one last delusion.
Don't have me mistaken.
This is no chronic preaching of emptiness.
For even lacking needs a form to flaw from.
As smolder is to metal : is space to emptiness.
* And there is no precious metal to my name, no body alike for emptiness to claim. *
Glory be to the Storyteller.
