Naked

Now he walks totally exposed in the night,
any apprehensions discarded like old clothes,
stripped of the voices that controlled the hands,
because he feels her fingers being run through the hair
and there is the smell of forbidden nicotine in his nostrils,
so in the dark to him it doesn’t matter what is right
no one is there to complain or prevent giving in to the urge.

Wasn’t long ago that the day burned away the haunting eyes,
the ones that came in the mirror behind his face,
but now they appear everywhere
with each look summoning their own spell.

His imagination is dipped in dementia
as it conjures its twisted mistress from marred memory,
she has the power to undress his brain of its reality
utterly clothe it in a new sense of truth
then his actions can feel so free and good.

In the bloody trail he now creates there is only laughter
for tonight all the fear and conformity will be a joke
then tomorrow he’ll see her impression on the mattress,
an image from so long ago,
though all he really has is the recollection
of one fated encounter in an elevator
where she left a mark upon his brain,
but now she lives so alive instead of as a ghost,
which is why he must behave those looks
to make sure she has friends in her solitude.

Perhaps among the mutilated corpses
he’ll find some type of balance
that will make the chaos seem normal,
but as long as he feels her wisp enter his evening,
he won’t listen to the inner screams that it is all insane.