a sucking vortex of clips
looped and spinning
gushing across the cerebral terrain
halt
the lights have dimmed, it is bleak here
all around me are the voices of people
some I recognize, others I promise never to face
“you’re better off dead.”
“you’re nothing, a fucking loser.”
“You’re better off dead.”
suddenly, from within my body grows an immense rush
it circulates throughout every vein
reinforced with the confidence of the Gods
“I cannot be slaughtered, fools!”
or so I maintain
dwindling bank accounts
hypersexual, deviant, slut, pig
“now lay awake in bed with your shame. You’re filth.”
I’m disappearing into the earth
deep, with the rocks and worms (who will rapidly feed on my carcass)
I’m fatigued, as I think
“Just let me not exist.”
pause
a sucking vortex of clips…
John Putignano 