Currently S.C.I.E.N.C.E. By Incubus vitamin. see related

Spasmodia.

A murmur of incapacitation--
This trite, digestive feeling
Has gone too far.
You sigh, a wave
Of memories, irreturnable events,
“Try to sleep,” I whisper
In admittedly depressive,
Desperate tone.
The stance, amiable,
But the eyes are cold.
You are a new doll--
Pretty, with sharply carved features.
Roll back glass into the socket head,
Searing, pointed, thread bites
At the seams.
It’s a sick convolution,
But I cannot take the stare.

In media res,
a convulsion in the land
Of Spasmodia.
March, one foot follows another
Straight out of my frenzied arteries
These broken-down capillaries
Refuse to hold you anymore.
What is with the sad conviction
That this silence is providential?
I fear someday a truce must occur.
And what will you do then?
You will talk pretty, singsong
Like a bird with wings clipped.
A paroxysm, the great disease
You’ve ripped my life a gaping hole
When I built yours a bridge.

The rooftops are tinged in white, I see
Atop the hangman’s knotted tree
I cling to my mistake.
My dear, my darling daring-do
Be glad for the escape.