VII: Crying Machines = Quiet ReleaseThere are two architects; they converse blindly as I am hooked up to rising machines. Tourists look on…….excitement races across their deserted faces. I get a glimpse of my world from a shoe box sized window. Nervous birds fight the running winds. The clouds crash in the distance causing exploding hearts, derailed trails, and a little hope.Diseased angels enter the room, they hold me down; let plastic snakes enter my arms. The more I struggle the greater I ...
VII: Crying Machines = Quiet ReleaseThere are two architects; they converse blindly as I am hooked up to rising machines. Tourists look on…….excitement races across their deserted faces. I get a glimpse of my world from a shoe box sized window. Nervous birds fight the running winds. The clouds crash in the distance causing exploding hearts, derailed trails, and a little hope.Diseased angels enter the room, they hold me down; let plastic snakes enter my arms. The more I struggle the greater I tire. I too finally let the worms enter my body. An old man…no, God enters the room. He asks me if any last words need to be said. As I struggle to find words the old man…no, God carves Styrofoam symbols into my chest. It’s much too late for words anyways I think. A man dressed in white enters the room, maybe he is an angel as well? Dolls dance around him painfully, they stare at me.They make me sick.I would strangle those pretty dolls…if given the chance.The man dressed in white continues to a computer. He will not acknowledge me. Strange words are said by the old man….no, God. The dolls stop dancing and begin to laugh at me, why? The machines, they have started. I can hear them.…It must hurt to be turned on; the machines, they have begun to cry.The walls, they have begun to melt. The tourist’s children…they are screaming…why? Am I some kind of monster? No, the ones behind paper faces, the man in white, even the diseased angels…they are the monsters.The machines begin to cry louder.Is God a monster too?The machines continue to cry and the room has gone silent, it’s hard but should I give a little resistance? Now I know, it does hurt to be turned on. I have begun to sweat broken glass. Knives swim through the insides of my body. Those fucking monsters…what have the done?As quickly as it began, the tears have stopped. Though the ones cried remain in my veins.The machines sleep; the tourists continue to stare silently. My eyes are bleeding; I will close them I think. The pain inside me has gone away…good….I can sleep…now.…where am I going? It doesn’t matter…I just hope she is there.…God Is a lonely place…
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