Haunted Heart

In the dry rasp that clings to the back of my throat,
schizophrenic chuckles are chained to the notion
of escape's battered and bruised language; cold tired love.
I wander in-out of freedom's cruel twisted
snarls as her tortured eyes cast lithe movement across
the naked tattered flesh of my back's fluttered skin.
Black bristled death is but a stone's throw away as
I gather circumstance and withered knowledge up,
to roll them into bloody balls of spiralled thought.
Perhaps I shall scream minute particles of light
as individuality strikes the deformed
complexion of imagination's continent.

I am all rich sinew and pulsed nerve endings here
in the ocean of madness where pelagic birds
circle the curled wild waves of coloured swirled visions.
Remote consequences float on dangerous dreams,
anxiety stutters peril's definitions
while I disable fear's petty glances and opt,
finally, for an emotional crusade through
the high-strung domain of imminent jeopardy.
It is criminal how easily I adjust
to the shades of complexity which creep along
the scorched shores of this disenchanted poetry,
wisdom is but a promise in this haunted heart.