from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”
Madame Stress Pills 1 (Petar Penda) Feeling nothing is a feeling, Indifference followed by remorse And a guilt-ridden question About what led to this state of mind And if we are to be blamed for The emptiness and horror We live and leave behind us. Our madness is not escape As we don't go anywhere It is only a subconscious distance From others and ourselves Since we know deep down We are contagious. 2 (David L O'Nan) My eyes are their own souls My body is another, the zoo can be wide awake The wind could be blowing in a new world, would I know? I feel mostly like a peasant, that is the feed. And that the rich are the desired. Pull on this wild chain, together can we pull and pull until Our hands become numb and bleeding. Remaining calloused. Can the brain be the same? Can the moon be just as calloused gawking down at us? There will always be the drunk bug like men serenading it with broken voiced ballads. Animals lurking by our dark shoes as we walk, in the night Their silence is angry, our silence is frightening, our silence once brave. Tree stumps scattering and wanting us to tumble, stumble into the arms of a wicked star. I hear the walking heavier and heavier, my eardrum is rattling. The stress pills are now fallen, washed in the mix with the maggots. I might as well be worshiping in bad habits if this is what life has become and from all looks – Will always be. Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. Poetry by Petar Penda : Tiresias
Fevers of the Mind 