a free ride inside my diseased mind.

hospital part 3

the man looks at his watch
and pushes his way on to the great
underground graffitied
transport worm
his shirt has holes of guilt torn out
an old man
whiskey eyed
tell tailed
flesh wooden teeth.

it weaves his way though erect passengers
a crash course with guilt
the old relics eyes
catch guilt’s attention
freeze framed pain.

a finger pokes guilt’s holes
they got you to kid
you look like you have been in a shoot out
i know those holes
from a galaxy away
i played that game
a real pro
until they gave me my biggest hole
they removed my soul
whisky eyes
opened his shirt
a gaping flesh vortex
right there in whiskeys chest
it reminded guilt of nautical portholes
copper rivets
sea foamed green
a million blinking stars
in the black galaxy.


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