Content warning
This story may contain sensitive material or discuss topics that some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised. The views and opinions expressed in this story are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Vocal.
Corium
A poem about insanity and radiation.
I am full of celestial patterns and cosmic battle scars.
Chock-full of wandering melodies
Plucked on badly tuned guitars.
.
Full of burns and blisters
And peeling skin.
.
I dream with my eyes open,
Vomit with my mouth closed,
And breathe in crisp lungfuls of smoke.
.
There are stars on the back of my eyelids.
They crackle on film.
.
It's a pastime to throw corpses from the roof
And leave irradiated bones in a trail
Across the country, continent, the globe.
.
But their clothes are in a heap
With rotted memories and useless gasmasks.
.
Oh, give people a chance
To dance in the nuclear snow.
Let them dip their hands into the poison rivers and drink.
.
Give them a chance to smile at the fire,
To fucking lose their minds.
.
They're all dead anyway.
Now or later, now and later.
They're all a walk statistic so what does it matter?
.
Add a few more smiles to the pile of bones
And sell them some cyanide.
.
Come on, let's have some fun now!
Let's run around barefoot in the Red Forest
And drop matches to the grass.
.
Fuck it.
Eat the plutonium.
.
Grab that yellow sign and parade me around,
Parade around the walking ghost
Who had too little common sense and too much hunger.
.
Fuck it.
Let's dance in the Sarcophagus.
.
It's over.
It was from the start but take my hand, won't you?
Dance with me a moment, take it slow.
.
Let's die like a star,
Bright and burning and irradiated to hell.
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
Comments (2)
Bloody hell! This was intense. Like two voices, echoing off each other. And macabre. The power of radiation radiated off this like a strange green glow; the acknowledgement that its destructive power is inevitable and dancing in the face of it. Futile. This struck me.
I dream with my eyes open, Vomit with my mouth closed That was pretty creative! Loved your poem