I'm in a funk.
[Words screamed through megaphones]; whistle a weak harmony
Of pay phone calls and homes, stomach churns from bad coffee,
Fictitious world in mind (more real than these places).
Bright colors, sharper lines: I live in [made up] spaces.
Dreams of boys and buses plummeting down fatal hills,
And a man who cusses under influence of pills.
Run from reality into these characters’ minds;
Testing morality, mortality of new kinds:
Tortured situations of freezing, bleeding, falling;
Facing fierce temptation and to redemption crawling.
Living through these falsehoods with a bravery not mine,
The ‘evil’ fights off good and toes a dangerous line.
I love these ones in all of their unreality.
Lined up against the wall, sacrificed mentality.
My ultimate escape when bitterness takes shape.