There exists a division,

splitting up my left arm,

Cutting to the bones of my wrist,

It travels up my neck and down aorta,

 

The two bloods don't combine,

the same color, making two on the outside,

They clot and burn,

plooming into the capillaries,

Dark opposing clouds of identical annihilation,

 

Scrawled on the tattered wall with my right hand,

is the seismic tremor of faults in my mind,

Steeply falling into the point singularities,

subject to the woes of senseless consciousness

 

The flower of right,

the ash and smoke of left,

The dichotomy storms olfactory,

overwhelming electric capacity of convention,

 

My form stipends and shrinks,

Slendering silhouetted profile,

Deadened leaf colored cables,

Covering forbidden and imagined fruits,

 

Oppressed and expanded into rocky faces,

Strutted with steel, and armed with glass,

the sweeping scythe reaps sound in air,

 

I am caught between tides,

Angular tides tear at flesh,

Caught in a dire spiral,

Spun out and stretched,

 

Two blood donating hands reach inside my skull,

Digging and plying, taking over my mind,

Stiffening physical action,

creating a lost identity of nothingness,

Undermining the structural integrity of mental status,

 

Am I sick?

Am I a freak?

 

Yes, I fear