Joy asked: I am still struggling with it, and really need your input. It is still in the rough draft phase.
The Interrogation
Rows of pictures spread out before you,
of the slain and severed,
And I think, a city should not be dotted with death.
Humanity should not vanish
Sparingly into sewers, piece by piece,
or drift along canals.
But killer,
rivers wait for you, your bundles of burlap and tarp.
Canals flow to you like the loyal arms of a servant,
your victims along riverbeds and flats;
They exist as shadows,
among the cracks of light
provided them like a weekly wage, falling through the alleyways of alcoves,
like glowing fissures in a wall.
But the parchment still rips,
the tar heel still burns their feet,
as liquid rainbows seep beneath vehicles
and pass through torn leather.
And who knows what else dries and fades among the ooze,
the booze of bottles and paper bags,
as vagrants and drifters are too drunk to remember
the ones who fell to your grip,
became a part of your cause.
And you pull straws in diners,
I am sure of it,
you bend them till they break, and pretend they feel the pain.
I can see you ruminating, reliving those events.
But I’ve still yet to learn
to escape your mind and return to mine,
as I am still beneath you,
your pillow, your sheets,
white flushed flesh
soft against your skin.
And the leaves scraping the pane,
they are my rigor mortis, my soul,
clawing at your barred window.
I accidentally slipped inside you,
as you told a story for each body,
behind the vacant stare in your eyes–
despondent,
a dissenting rage waiting to piece them back together.
Thank you AC Tesla, that was actually very helpful.
Google Nemesis
