To the Thirty-two -------------------------------------------
I wish I was strong,
composed of the iron in my blood,
the stone in my bones
and the spirit of my will –
but I am not,
I am weak;
I am man.
Was it an illusion?
Doubt cast itself onto the floor
a spear of light
piercing the blue of my eye –
insomniac,
Death's shadow lives
where the aperture
captures lies
from perspective to mind.
Transformation inwards
from the Metamorphosis of Kafka
to Azathoth
am I the dreaming
“Blind Idiot God" Lovecraft wrought
or am I decay –
disgusting failure
creature of ill repute?
Thirty-two years
and I think
enlightenment is bullshit –
Submission Name: To the Thirty-two
